


And All The Devils Are Here

by queenofchildren



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: (aka The Best Trope), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Undercover, cheesy dates, do not ask me about plot, just enjoy the craziness, or plausibility, this may be the weirdest story I have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 82,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: It's a simple story, really: Girl meets Boy. Girl hates Boy. Girl and Boy infiltrate the most popular reality dating show on television to expose its unethical treatment of contestants and have to act like they're falling in love... And suddenly, the lines get blurred between the sparks flying on screen - and the real thing that grows when the cameras stop rolling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is hands down one of the weirdest, craziest story premises I've ever written. It still feels like none of it makes sense. There will be SO MANY plot holes. But for the sake of crazy on-screen dating shenanigans, I ask that you all overlook those and just go on this ride with me.  
> It was inspired by a post about fake dating for a reality show, and then my mind slipped and combined it with an undercover AU, encouraged by @unwrittenmusings on tumblr, and now I'm writing a fic about a show I don't even like. What I do like, however, is the biting "The Bachelor"-satire that is UnReal, which I can only encourage you all to watch, and which will probably influence this fic a lot.  
> And on a more serious note: A topic that has come up both in discussions of the real show and as a plot point on UnReal is race and racism, so clearly, this is something that should not be omitted entirely. However, being neither American nor a Person of Color, I don't feel confident tackling that issue in-depth. So it will come up in passing, but I won't focus on it too much. If at any point I do represent the issue in an inappropriate way, please let me know.  
> Alright, on with the story. (Oh God, what have I gotten mysef into?)

“ _Mister Right_? _That's_ your idea of groundbreaking investigative journalism, Capulet?”

Rosaline rolls her eyes at the Montague's interjection, trying not to show how much it stings. She only just joined the _Verona Gazette_ this semester, and it's the first time she gets to pitch a story at the college newspaper's weekly staff meeting – and this _asshole_ just dismisses it out of hand.

Well, she won't give up without a fight. It took her two years of college to realize that writing, not law, is where her true passion lies. She doesn't have much time left to leave her mark at the Gazette and lay the groundwork for a career in journalism, and she's not going to let anyone stop her now that she has both a story idea and a chance to pitch it.

“It's a show with ratings in the millions. The most popular reality-show format in years. It incites conversation.” 

“About what, skincare routines and cat fights?” 

_Of course_ Benvolio Montague is going to be a douchebag about this. She knew he was going to be trouble the moment she first set foot into the hallowed editorial room at the _Gazette_ , and the first thing he did was try to hit on her – only to drop her like a hot potato when she wasn't receptive to his attentions.

“Oh, I don't know – how about gender identities? Sexism? Racism? When a Black man got cast as "Mister Right" last season, the whole country was talking about it.”

“So what, a Black guy was cast as “Mister Right” one time and now racism's over?”

“That's not even remotely what I was saying and you know it!” How can one person be so hair-raisingly irritating? “But stuff like that sparks a conversation. It means something to people. Maybe not to people like _you_ , but then again, maybe this magazine has catered to people like you long enough.”

“ _People like me_?” He repeats her words sarcastically, but Rosaline returns his gaze without flinching. She won't let him make a joke of this. 

“Entitled white dudes.” 

“Hear, hear!”, someone shouts from the corner of the room, and Rosaline feels relieved that at least one person apart from her cousin Juliet seems to be on her side here – but when she turns her head to look at them, she realizes the interjection came from the Montague's best friend Mercutio, who writes the sex column and whose idea of research seems to consist mostly of sleeping with everything that moves. So maybe not the best ally, but an ally nonetheless. 

“Wow, well done.” Apparently, sarcasm is the Montague's weapon of choice. “You just won the whole argument by stating a few identity markers. I'm obliterated.” 

He realizes a moment too late that he just claimed "entitled" as a descriptor for himself without protest, and Rosaline feels her lips curl into a predatory smile. But before she can pounce, an authoritative voice cuts in. 

“Alright, Montague, that's enough", the Gazette's editor-in-chief speaks up, and Rosaline's stomach sinks when he turns his serious gaze on her. 

Escalus Prince just took over as editor-in-chief this semester, and it's clear that he's determined to continue the long and venerable history of their college newspaper. Since its first issue appeared nearly a century ago, the Gazette has churned out a steady supply of Pulitzer Prize-winners, and somehow, Rosaline doubts he sees her story pitch as Pulitzer Prize-material.

The thought stings, and not just out of intellectual pride: Rosaline has had a major crush on her editor-in-chief ever since she first spilled iced coffee all over him and he only smiled away her stammered apology and bought her a new one, like some kind of dashing old-timey gentleman.

And like a true gentleman, Escalus even tries to let her down gently.

“I appreciate your creativity, Rosaline, but I'm not entirely sure _Mister Right_ is a show that's all that relevant to our fellow students.” 

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” Juliet murmurs beside her, and Rosaline shoots her cousin a quick grin. She should know: Juliet's entire sorority convenes every week whenever a new season of _Mister_ _Right_ airs to watch and dissect the wildly successful dating-show with a reverence bordering on the religious. They may be attending one of the country's most elite colleges, but that doesn't mean they can't have their guilty pleasures.

“But I like that you're not shy about pitching your own story ideas so soon after joining the staff – that's exactly the right attitude!” 

Escalus' smile is meant to be encouraging, she knows, but it feels just the tiniest bit patronizing as well – especially since, two days after the coffee incident, he asked her on a date, and another one a week later. It doesn't mean they're officially a _thing_ , she knows that – but still, considering he seemed to enjoy talking to her whenever they hung out alone, it irks her to see him brush off her idea now.

But she doesn't get a chance to continue broodingabout her possibly ridiculous crush on her editor-in-chief before someone speaks up again.

“You know what? Let her try.” 

At first she thinks it's a joke, some cruel attempt from the Montague to make her think she has a chance at actually working on her first story, only to take it away again. The Gazette's bylines state that even when the editor-in-chief passes on a story, that decision can be revoked when a senior staff member speaks up in favor of it – and Benvolio just spoke up for her. He only does illustrations and one satirical column, but he's a post-grad who's been doing so for almost three years now, and that makes him senior staff.

“I can't begin to fathom how that story might be at all relevant to our readers, or how it's even a story in the first place. But if she thinks it is – let her give it a shot.” 

Belatedly, she understands what he's playing at: He wants her to try her hand at the story and fail, just so he can rub her nose in it when it doesn't lead anywhere.

Well, she'll prove him wrong.

“It's a story,” she says, and the Montague's eyes swivel from Escalus over to her, lingering on her for a long, measuring glance. 

“Alright – then write it.” He looks back at Escalus, completely frozen in confusion as he glances back and forth between her and the Montague. “I vote that we let her do the story. You know what that means.”

Escalus' expression is so cold that for a moment Rosaline thinks his gaze might just turn the other man into an icicle where he sits, lounging on the sofa with demonstrative nonchalance – but then he nods.

“Alright. Never let it be said that this editor-in-chief doesn't respect our bylaws. Rosaline, you're on the story. What do you need?” 

For a moment, Rosaline is confused by this seemingly obvious question. She needs her laptop, she assumes, in order to do her research and apply to be cast for the show. But apparently, there was some deeper meaning behind the question, and her earlier unlikely ally helps her out again.

“He means who do you want on your team, honey.” Somehow, Mercutio manages to make that tearm of endearment not sound sexist. “For a big story like this, you get to pick one to four other staff members to help you research.” He gets to his feet, then immediately sinks into a dramatic bow. “And I would like to volunteer myself as your first minion.” 

“I'm in too,” Juliet volunteers from the side, and Mercutio smiles at her. 

“Excellent – you'll be our pop culture expert, I can tell.” Mercutio looks around the room pensively, a perfectly innocent action that nonetheless gives off a somewhat ominous vibe. “And I think we could use a second person to try and infiltrate the show. Maybe even...” he pauses dramatically, “" _Mister Right"_ himself.”

“What, so you want to send half my staff on the show now?” Escalus' voice is tinged with a very unusual edge of irritation, but Mercutio only shrugs. 

“Why not? After all, they have to get on the show in the first place. Casting for these shows is a very thorough process. We only send one horse into the race, we might not even make it to the starting line.” Another look around the room, ostentatiously aimless – he's definitely plotting something, Rosaline thinks at the same moment as Mercutio's eyes fall on his friend. “What do you think, Benny-o – ever dreamed of having twenty women fight over you?” 

“Much as that sounds like a dream come true,” Benvolio drawls, trying to look bored even though Rosaline could swear she saw a flash of panic on his face, “I do actually have better things to do. Like attend classes, for example.”

“Oh, but the show will be shot during our semester break. That's why it works out in the first place,” Juliet supplies innocently, and Mercutio winks at her with a broad smile. 

“There you go – no reason to worry about your attendance score.”

This time she's not imagining it, Rosaline thinks: The Montague is going pale.

“I think it's a great idea to have you apply as "Mister Right",” she says with the kind of upbeat voice Juliet usually adopts to talk her into things she knows she'll hate, vicious pleasure starting to bloom inside her. “You _are_ the perfect candidate, after all: You're stupid rich for no good reason, and you have that whole preppy asshole aesthetic going already.” 

Getting to his feet, the Montague flashes her a smile that's even more irritating than his usual barbs, then steps right into her personal space.

“Just say you think I'm attractive, Capulet. I won't hold it against you.” As he no doubt expected, this earns him whoops and chuckles from the many admirers he has among the editorial staff, and thus emboldened, he puts his hand on the small of her back and pulls her flush against him. “But if you _insist_ , I'll be your Mister Right.” 

Rosaline pushes him away hard enough to send him slamming into Escalus' desk, more flustered than she should be.

“If you touch me again, I will _end_ you.”

For a moment, there's tense silence – and then Rosaline learns what Caesar must have felt like in his final moments when the one person she thought she could trust turns against her.

“Rosie, if you really want to go through with this, you might want to be a little less hostile.” 

Rosaline turns around to stare at her cousin, feeling utterly betrayed, and Juliet smiles apologetically.

“I'm just saying, if you make it on the show and want to stay on for more than one episode, you have to make it look like you're interested in staying in the first place. Which means you should at least _pretend_ to like him.”

Aware that all eyes in the room are on her, Rosaline forces herself to nod, rearrange her tense expression into something that might count as an optimistic one.

“I can do that.” She still can't resist glaring at the Montague one more time. “If he keeps his hands to himself when the cameras are off.”

The tiny flash of irritation on the Montague's face might just make that sacrifice worth it, she thinks.

“Don't worry, Capulet – I won't be a threat to your _virtue_.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes, but secretly, she's glad for the barb: It means that she only imagined the spark that went through her when he touched her, the flutter in her stomach when his voice dipped promisingly.

“It's settled then,” Mercutio claps his hands in a “let's get to it”-gesture. “We'll get you both on that show, and the whole nation will watch you have the romance of the _century_.”

“And then we expose their unethical practices and mistreatment of their contestants,” Rosaline adds, because it seems like Mercutio might need a reminder of the true purpose of this endeavor, the story she initially pitched. 

“Right, sure. That too.” Mercutio grins, excited like a little kid on Christmas morning. “It's going to be _epic_.” 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I still have a lot to figure out for this story, but I figure it's best to just delve in anyway.  
> Also, one unexpected question I had to solve for this chapter was: Does Shakespeare exist in this universe - and if so, does the story of Romeo and Juliet? I decided that, for this fic, the answer is: Shakespeare the writer exists. His most famous tragic love story does not.

Two months later, Rosaline is sitting in a limousine with four other excitedly chattering women, all of them getting ready to battle for the heart of their supposed "Mister Right", or at the very least for enough tv exposure for a spin-off career. Trying to sit up straight enough to breathe through a fricking corset, Rosaline forces herself not to freak out over the fact that she's about to be filmed for her first appearance on national television – in a dress straight out of a Renaissance fair costume stall, or perhaps a fairytale-movie with questionable production value.

The dress was not her idea, but it is sort of her fault. She knew from her research that, upon arriving at the mansion where parts of the show are filmed and meeting the season's "Mister Right", the contestants often introduce themselves with some sort of gimmick to make a strong impression. Usually these gimmicks are tied, however tenuously, to the women's own biography or interests, but sometimes they seem designed purely to embarrass the contestant in question. So, in order to avoid letting the producers pressure her into some painfully ridiculous entrance, Rosaline came up with an idea of her own: Being a literature major, she suggested she might quote a poem upon her arrival - it would set a romantic mood and give Benvolio a chance to see what she's passionate about. To keep it classic, she went for a Shakespeare sonnet, sonnet 116, not because it's her favourite per se but because it has the word “love” in it and she hopes that will be enough to make the producers go for it and not try and talk her into any other silly ideas.

The plan works well - until it completely backfires: She does get the okay for the sonnet – it helps that the material is no longer copyrighted, so it won't cost the network anything to include it – but the producers add one thing to really make her performance _stand out_ , as they put it.

Which is why she is now forced to get out of the stupid limo in a long, puffy, purple gown that would not be out of place at a Renaissance faire – complete with historically inaccurate corset, layers upon layers of scratchy fabric and an honest-to-God pointed hat with a veil attached to it.

Benvolio's expression when she walks up to meet him confirms her fear: She looks ridiculous.

Despite feeling thoroughly humiliated, she decides not to let it get her down. Clearly, the producers have decided to make her the weird nerdy one among the contestants, and that's fine by her – it can't be worse than being the designated slutty or bitchy contestant. But being made the laughing-stock of the first evening? That's a little harder to swallow, and it doesn't help that, outside the ring of treacherously soft lighting, there's a small army of crew members with clipboards, cameras, sound equipment and a bunch of other gear whose purpose she doesn't even begin to understand.

But she grits her teeth, smiles and begins to recite:

“Love is not love, which alters where it alteration finds...”

Somehow, she manages to recite the entire poem until she reaches the last line, which is when Benvolio actually joins in.

“...I never writ, nor no man ever loved.“

For a moment after they've ended, Rosaline can only stare at him. Did he just quote Shakespeare back at her? Does that mean he can _read_?

“I love that poem.”

“It's a sonnet, actually,” Rosaline replies, still too stunned to get back to the flirting she was supposed to be doing. She lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that doesn't even make sense since her natural hair has been carefully styled into a braided updo, only to end up smacking herself in the face with the puffy sleeve of her ridiculous costume.

Benvolio is visibly stifling a laugh, but to his credit, he does not mention her ridiculous getup.

“I know, Sonnet 116.”

Rosaline nods, wondering briefly why _he's_ allowed to show his education when everyone's been pestering her to dumb herself down before this, even with the nerd persona.

“My personal favorite would be Sonnet number 24.”

Rosaline has to suppress a frown as she wonders which sonnet he's talking about. 24 happens to be one they talked about in her Shakespeare class, but it's not one of the handful of sonnets people usually quote. Either he knows more about this than she suspected, or he just pulled a number out of his ass. The latter seems more likely, she concludes, before focusing once more on Benvolio, who's beginning to look a little impatient at her silence.

“Are you going to tell me your name, or should I call you “unknown poet” for the rest of the night?”

He winks and grins cheekily, but a part of her is still thankful that he, at least, remembered what they're supposed to do here, and that they're supposed to do it while pretending that they didn't know each other before. They've been very careful, during the preparations for their “mission”, not to hang out so as not to be seen together before coming on the show, so she actually hasn't seen him in person in more than a month, relying on phone calls and group chats instead. Unlike her, Benvolio has been styled to his advantage for the occasion, in a slim, midnight-blue suit that fits him perfectly. Maybe the transformation will help her pretend that he actually is a handsome stranger she's trying to woo, rather than, well, _him_.

“It's Rosaline,” she replies, and out of some reflex that indicates good manners but perhaps isn't exactly making her look any more charming, she holds out her hand – as if a _handshake_ is what the producers wanted her to go for here.

Again, Benvolio saves the situation: He takes her hand, not to shake it but to lift it up and gallantly kiss the back of her hand.

“My pleasure,” he says, voice soft and eyes twinkling mischievously, and she feels her face heat up.

Thankfully, she's saved by the producer standing off to the side behind Benvolio and making impatient hand motions to indicate that her time's up and she's supposed to move on. Benvolio, perhaps hurried along by similar reminders, apparently decides to bring this farce to an end.

“Well, Rosaline,” he's still holding on to her hand, unnecessarily in her opinion, “I hope we have a chance to talk later, so you can tell me more about your passion for Shakespeare. Maybe I'll even get to hear another love poem?”

“I'll see if I can remember another one,” she replies, trying to make it sound less like a chore and more like an offer he won't be able to resist. She's going to have to start looking like she actually wants to be here at some point, she thinks resignedly – and Benvolio is going to have to make it look like he wants her to stay, as well.

Then the producer shoos her along and she trudges on into the house, nearly tripping over the too-long hem of her dress. Despite the ridiculousness and the excessive length, at least the dress is a flattering color for her, so the producers weren't as cruel with the idea as they could have been, but she still knows she's going to go down in this season's history as “Renaissance faire girl”, and Benvolio will have a hard time explaining why he kept her on that first night.

Then again, that corset is doing a pretty good job highlighting assets other than her grasp of literature, so maybe no one will question his choice after all. For now, she has played her part, and all she can do is wait. There are about eleven more candidates to welcome after all, and by the time they've all done their song and dance (literally, in the case of one poor girl who revealed that she does interpretive dance in her free time, and was promptly bullied into dancing her Hello), it's already past midnight.

Rosaline and the other waiting contestants spend the time recapping their first meetings – each convinced, of course, that hers went off wonderfully and will surely spell true love in the near future – and of course sharing their opinions of the season's “Mister Right”.

“I knew he was cute – but I wasn't ready for how _charming_ he'd be!”, gushes one, and the others nod in agreement. Rosaline forces herself not to barf up the champagne she's been sipping but to join in their praises instead.

“He knows _Shakespeare_ ,” she chimes in, which, even without any proof to back up the claim, earns her a round of _oohs_ and _aahs_. It's all for the sake of her article, she reminds herself, even talking up Benvolio Montague to a bunch of women who seem already more than willing to jump his bones.

“And that _suit_!”, exclaims the woman next to her with a dreamy expression, and the focus shifts away from Rosaline as everyone agrees that the suit was _to die for_.

“Still,” giggles a blonde woman, “I wouldn't mind getting him out of it.”

Shrieking laughter follows this announcement, then more suggestions for what exactly the contestants would like to do to their “Mister Right”, and Rosaline clutches her champagne glass in a death grip and tries not to visualize any of their suggestions.

Luckily, their increasingly raucous conversation is interrupted by a flock of producers, sweeping into the room after the last contestant has arrived to announce that Mister Right will join them now, in a tone that suggests that he'll be bringing along the Queen of England herself.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room changes, their little moment of raucous fun and alcohol-induced bonding cut short to remind them what they are supposed to each other, first and foremost: Rivals.

Rivals for the affection, or for the moment at the very least the attention, of the man walking into the room behind the host, sporting a broad smile and practically bouncing along with all the playful excitement of a puppy. While around her, bright smiles and cheers welcome him in their midst, Rosaline has to fight off a grumpy frown: She has no idea where he's getting the energy, because she herself is _exhausted_.

They've been shooting for hours: Pre-show interviews about her expectations and game plan, meeting the other contestants, waiting in the limo for her turn at presenting herself before her own personal Mister Wrong, and more waiting until everyone else had done the same. And it didn't just start when the cameras started rolling: For the past two days she's been put through a brutal beauty regime, pretty much cut off from carbs, and constantly prodded by the producers with questions she thinks she already answered during the casting process, although she can't remember entirely because it too seemed to take ages.

In fact, she can barely even remember a time before her life revolved around Mister Right and nothing else. From the moment it was decided that she should take on the story, she's been doing research for it; marathoning eight seasons of this ridiculous show and reading every interview and think peace and, surprisingly, scientific article she could find about it. Her team, or rather, Mercutio and Juliet, also broadened the definition of research to essentially put her through some sort of trophy wife-bootcamp: Walking in five-inch heels, laughing sycophantically, finding hobbies that are interesting enough to provide material for her “character introduction” videos but not so badass as to potentially threaten Mister Right's masculinity.

Those interviews, and the casting process that went with them, were gruelingly thorough, but with the help of her team, she managed to get through them. The trick was to create enough of an alter ego for Rosaline to make her appealing to the production team without making it too difficult for her to keep up with the charade, and of course, to sever all her ties with the _Gazette_. If the production company were to find out she and Benvolio know each other, the jig would be up immediately. But luckily, Benvolio has only ever published his illustrations under a pseudonym, and Rosaline is so new to the editorial team that her name hasn't appeared in any of their publications yet. Watching the others pose for the team photograph she couldn't be in to preserve her anonymity was admittedly hard – but not as hard as telling Escalus that there won't be any further dates. If she's going to go into this, she's going to do it with her mind focused on the task and not on Escalus – and maybe whatever they could have had can be picked up again when she returns.

But of course, there's no point of thinking about _after_ now, because that is still weeks away, and in the meantime, she has to pretend to be attracted to Benvolio Montague, who is even now interrupting her thoughts by starting on what sounds like a long-ish speech.

She's not sure how much of it is scripted, but she's very sure all of it is bullshit. The gist of it is that Benvolio claims to have had a bit of a wild youth but that now he – along with, it is implied, his family money – is ready to get serious about finishing university, getting a job and settling down to start a family, then they're all ushered over to the bar on the nearby patio to mingle.

Immediately, half the girls are fighting over a chance to get to speak to Benvolio and leave their mark early, and Rosaline hangs back with the other half, who seem to have chosen aloofness as their preferred approach. Benvolio is very clearly enjoying the attention: Within half an hour, he's sandwiched in between two girls and dancing to music that started up out of nowhere, and Rosaline is wondering not for the first time if bringing him here may not have been a mistake.

After all, how the hell is he going to be _any_ help if all he does is drink and flirt and peer not-so-subtly at the readily provided tantalizing glimpses all around him? It looks like she'll be the one doing the heavy lifting here, and the best she can hope for is for him not to blow her cover.

But when he eventually does head over to her little group, apparently considering it his duty to greet all of the contestants personally as if he owned the gigantic mansion they've been moved into, Benvolio showns no sign that he's ever met her before tonight. He treats her like everyone else as he makes flirtatious small-talk ranging from awkward to outrageous while using the word “ladies” a lot. Soon, even the more withdrawn contestants are thawing under his bright smile, and are getting brave enough to steal him away for one-on-one conversations.

While Benvolio lets the more enterprising women pull him away from the group, Rosaline turns her attention back to her fellow contestants – she has a job to do here, no matter how much fun he might be having.

Making easy conversation, she tries to get a feel for who they are, what brought them here, what they're hoping for from the show. Many of them are guarded, careful not to reveal too much of themselves just now, and most of them claim to be here to find true love, which Rosaline isn't entirely convinced of in most cases. Still, the conversations are interesting, and Rosaline finds that perhaps she had some rather biased notions of the kind of woman who would participate in such a show.

And then finally, long after midnight, the producers announce that the time to mingle is over and it's time for the first round of eliminations – or, as they call it euphemistically, the “rose ceremony”. Which basically means standing around for hours on end in the cool night air, trying not to visibly shiver while the cameras are on them, while Benvolio hands out his roses to the women he has chosen to stay.

Rosaline makes a mental note to remember asking him if they were all his own choices, or if the producers told him which women to pick beforehand. She forbids herself to dwell too long on the question, or to wonder what his choices, if they are indeed his own, say about him. So far, the contestants equipped with the sought-after roses are a pretty diverse mix, or as diverse as it gets on these shows. The group in its entirety is skewing towards white and blonde, but again, that could be a matter of casting and not an indication of their “Mister Right's” preferred type. And even if it was, of course, that's not for her to concern herself with. She's not here for him, after all, no matter how much the host talks him up, no matter how expensive a suit the costume people put him in and how many beautiful lines the producers feed him.

And there are many, many lines being delivered tonight: In a break with tradition, Mister Right decides to not just hand out the roses, but to say a few words to every woman he gives one to, just a quick remark about something he talked to them about throughout the evening or something he rememberd from their introductions. It's a smart move, Rosaline thinks, making him look like he actually paid attention to all these women tonight and tried to connect with them on a personal level. She just isn't sure how the hell he's going to pull that move off when it comes to her rose, seeing as they didn't even talk again after her disastrous introduction.

But someone must have prepared even for the eventuality of a contestant who has absolutely nothing in common with her “Mister Right”, because when Benvolio calls out her name and she emerges from the ranks of the remaining contestants to walk over to him, he has a line ready and waiting for her along with the pink rose.

“Rosaline, he begins, “we didn't really get a chance to talk much tonight. But your entrance, and the way you found a creative way to show me something you're passionate about, have left me intrigued. I'd like to get to know you better.”

Odd, she thinks with relief, that wasn't really all that difficult. Remembering her part in this scene – the final one for tonight, thank God – Rosaline smiles sweetly and takes the rose he's offering.

“I'd like that too.”

She can only hope the lying is going to get easier soon – because right now, Rosaline doesn't think anyone bought her claim that she's seriously interested in that man.

 

***

Since Mister Right isn't filmed live, episodes air three days after they are filmed, leaving just enough time for some hasty editing.

And so three days after Rosaline and her fellow contestants have met their “Mister Right”, the rest of “Team True Love” get to watch their first meeting: At the Delta Nu sorority house right next to Verona University's campus, Juliet and Mercutio are settling in to watch the season premiere of _Mister Right_ \- both still a little stunned by the fact that both their team's moles made it on the show, because the road here was long and full of long, heated discussions that didn't even slow down when they decided not to have Rosaline and Benovlio meet up in person for their preparations so as not to be seen together.

During one of their first meetings, when they were discussing how best to make Benvolio appealing as the new season's “Mister Right”, Rosaline argued that he should play up the trust fund kid angle, keep talking about his business major and the fact that there's an entire building on campus bearing his name because his uncle donated the funds to build it. Benvolio wanted to do no such thing, and insisted that he would talk about things that actually interest him or nothing at all.

"I'm already going in there under false pretenses. I should keep the deceit to a minimum, or we'll get busted immediately."

"Fine, do the sensitive artist thing, see where it gets you,” Rosaline had huffed irritatedly, her standard reaction to most of Benvolio's suggestions. “But you realise these women won't actually care about you, right? They care about their fifteen minutes of fame, or at the very least about some measure of upward mobility."

But the fact that she had dropped the issue at this point had given it away that Rosaline had been convinced by Benvolio's reasoning, although it had not left Juliet and Mercutio any more reassured about the fact that these two people are supposed to pretend to fall in love on screen, or at the very least to be interested in each other for an extended period of time. But they were both cast, and Benvolio stuck to his strategy and is now making his national debut as sought-after heartthrob without straying too far from the real Benvolio, and Juliet and Mercutio look forward to figuring out which of the things he says will be designed to appeal to the viewers' romantic fantasies, and which will represent his real opinions. (There are plans for a drinking game and everything.)

"I'm calling it now," Mercutio announces, "he's not going to make up _anything_. He'll mean every word he says, and he's going to fall in love for real. My boy is unable to lie. Complete lost cause."

For now, this prediction doesn't get much of a reaction, nearly drowned out by the show's opening theme. But Juliet, sitting close enough to hear it anyway, will remember his words – and over the following weeks, she'll be reminded of them more than once.

The show starts with a brief overview of all the contestants, barely more than a slideshow, then the it finally reveals its "Mister Right", which means it's Benvolio's time to shine. And standing on a balcony overlooking the sea in a tailormade suit, he does make an impression indeed – that much is clear from the reactions of at least half the inhabitants of the Delta Nu house.

Which is a relief, because half the reason they came to watch the show's opening episode here was to get some audience reactions to their contestants. The other half is that Juliet's sorority sisters make a mean margarita, which they're all sipping on casually while Benvolio talks about his wish to settle down.

“I never thought I'd hear _him_ talk about settling down,” Juliet comments, although she has to admit she's basing this more on his reputation than on anything she actually knows of Benvolio's love life.

“Eh, he acts like a player, but I think he really does just want to be loved.”

And as if to prove Mercutio's surprising assessment correct, Benvolio is now prompted to delve deeper into his reasons for coming on the show. After all, what everyone wants to know most is: What kind of woman is TV's most eligible bachelor looking for?

"I want a woman who's not a trophy but a partner. Someone I can talk to about everything, and who will let me know in turn what's going on with her. Someone who has her own thoughts and opinions, her own life apart from me." He grins playfully. "Someone who gives as good as she gets but who I know, at the end of the day, I can count on."

He smiles, shrugs a little helplessly.

"I know that sounds like a lot – but who knows, maybe I'll find her here."

By the end of the introduction, his two handlers can congratulate themselves for a job well done: After working out for weeks what kinds of things Benvolio should say in these interviews to make sure he fulfills the role of “Mister Right” without having to lie or pretend, he's managed to find the perfect balance – at least half the audience should be in love with him by now.

"You know what's funny?", Juliet muses later, when the first episode ends on a teaser for the next one: "The woman he's describing sounds exactly like Rosaline."

Next to her, Mercutio smiles into his margarita.

"That's just what I suspected."

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, after what could not have been more than three hours of sleep, they get woken up to listen as the smarmy host of the show reads a letter from Benvolio, no, from "Mister Right". For their first day, he has chosen what amounts to half the remaining contestants to go on a so-called group date with him, the destination of which is only cheekily hinted at in the letter.

Luckily, Rosaline is not one of the chosen ones, and is therefore allowed to stay behind at the mansion (or, as the other contestants put it dejectedly, “left behind“ there). But if she thought that meant she practically had the day off, she was sorely mistaken: The producers announce that they will use the day to shoot some more interviews – recaps of their first meetings with "Mister Right", glimpses at potential strategies to win his heart, insights into the contestants' own romantic history. And of course, the cruelly worded and emphatically repeated question: How does it feel to be _left behind_ today? Are today's unwanted ones afraid that they failed to sufficiently make an impression the day before? How do they intend to catch up with the women who were invited for the date today, and will get to spend the entire day getting to know their "Mister Right"?

The questioning is a masterpiece of manipulation, subtly and efficiently making the contestants ever more worried and nervous. By the time a limousine pulls up in the yard with the returning group, three of the women have cried on camera, and Rosaline is thoroughly sick of... well, everything. 

The producers' constant attempts to undermine her confidence were bad enough, but the probing questions into her romantic past really set her on edge, even though she knew from rewatching the former seasons that they would come eventually. For one thing, she doesn't have much of a romantic history to speak of - a few flings here and there, not much more. And the one thing that might have turned into something more is the last thing she wants to drag out on national television: her budding... whatever it was with Escalus. Obviously, she can't mention _that_ when she's supposedly trying to establish a relationship with "Mister Right", but that doesn't mean she isn't thinking of Escalus more than once throughout the afternoon and, well, she's not entirely sure what to think of him.

Their dates were lovely, all animated conversation and soft smiles and, on the second one, a kiss goodnight that was enough to nearly make her melt on the doorstep of her dorm building. But from the moment she decided to infiltrate _Mister Right_ , Escalus withdrew noticeably – no more dates, no more late-night texts, no more secretive little smiles or innocently standing just a little too close together in the _Gazette's_ editorial room. When she finally found the courage to talk to him about it, Escalus said that he thought he was making things easier for her, that she should focus entirely on the show and her article. And it made sense, in an annoying way, but that didn't make it hurt any less just how easy he found it to let her go.

It's silly, she knows – he is her editor-in-chief, after all, so he should be doing what he can to make this assignment easier for her, and make sure it yields good results for the _Gazette_. Still, would it have killed him to say goodbye properly before she left? To give any indication of whether or not he wants them to pick up again where they left off, once she returns from shooting? Maybe even admit that the thought of seeing her flirt with another man on tv bothers him?

But he did and said none of those things, and now she's sitting here, tasked with chasing after a man she hates while not even knowing if the man she thought she was falling in love with is feeling anywhere near the same thing. To call her love life unsatisfactory would be an understatement.

Between the interviews and the other women's rising nervousness, Rosaline is in a terrible mood by the time Benvolio and his chosen harem for the day return from their group date. Listening to the date's participants gush about how fun it was and what a great catch the Montague is ( _honestly!_ ) does nothing to brighten her mood, and neither does the chirpy production assistant zeroing in on her when it is time to get changed for the evening's get-together, where all the women who haven't made their mark yet get a chance to pounce on Benvolio before he eliminates one of them later tonight.

Knowing just how late that ceremony can run, Rosaline's styling goal for the evening was “warm and comfortable“ – but her handler has other plans, apparently: The moment Rosaline emerges from her shared room in the dress she picked for the occasion, a simple, long-sleeved black sheath, her assigned assistant drags her back inside with a saccharine smile and an armful of what looks like bedazzled dish towels for a spontaneous make-over.

“I know you didn't have the best start yesterday, and I'm sure you're worried about not getting picked for the group date today...“

That could not be further from the truth, but Rosaline does not point this out, and the assistant keeps chattering on:

“But that just means it's all the more important that you leave an impression tonight. This is your chance to show your “Mister Right“ your sexy side. Do you really want to squander that chance on a funeral dress?”

There are a lot of things Rosaline wants to say to that, but for the sake of her article, she keeps those thoughts to herself and lets the assistant wrangle her into one of the dish towels that turns out to be a dress. It's somehow both short and reveals a lot of cleavage at the same time, which is one of the things Juliet made her promise to avoid.

“You're going to be the classy contestant. The intellectual one. No stripper outfits.”

Which was a decision Rosaline had been all too happy to go along with – but clearly, classy and intellectual is not what the production crew are looking for.

Which means that now, she's going to have to be careful not to accidentally expose herself to millions of viewers – or worse, to Benvolio, who is walking up the garden path to the pool as soon as she's made it to her place in line. He's greeted by a chorus of ear-splitting shrieks and whoops, and then the contestants are allowed to leave their places and join him by the bar.

The momentary flash of panic on Benvolio's face when the gaggle of women descends upon him is a sight that almost makes up for the rest of the day, but he soon regains his composure and slips back into his smooth, charming persona, making small-talk with a dozen women at once and somehow managing to make every one of them feel like the only woman in the world – at least, so their dreamy expressions suggest.

When individual women start whisking him away from the group for one-on-one conversations again, Rosaline hangs back once more, thankful for the chance to escape the producers' attention for a little while at least. But of course, Benvolio ruins even her small moment of relative peace: Before long, he's rejoining the small group of women she's standing with, and before one of them can zero in on him, he addresses Rosaline:

“Now _you_ I've barely talked to yet.” Smiling, he nods towards the path leading over to the garden. “We should change that.”

Of course, this is an invitation she can't decline – after all, getting some alone time with him should be exactly what she's after. And she has to admit, it may not be the worst idea for him to pay her some attention, annoying as it may be to be bossed around by the Montague. They have to interact at least enough to make it believable he could have an interest in her – and letting her advance to the next round again without having so much as spoken would be a little suspicious.

“So, Rosaline,” Benvolio says as he leads her to a loveseat in a secluded corner of the garden, “you're a quiet one.”

With a simpering smile, she sits down. “I guess I can be a little shy sometimes.”

There's a real smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at that claim – Benvolio knows well that “shy” is not something anyone would ever describe her as.

“Well, we'll just have to draw you out then. After all,” he leans closer, apparently deciding to go all in on the whole “smooth and seductive”-schtick, “I for one have always believed that it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

With that, he lays his hand on her knee and slides it all the way up to the edge of her dress, turning her slightly towards him in the process. His hand is warm on her night air-chilled skin, and she suppresses a shiver as she leans in to whisper in his ear:

“What are you doing?”

“You were about to flash your panties at the camera, you should be thanking me,” Benvolio whispers back, warm breath ghosting across her bare shoulders. “And maybe pick a slightly longer dress next time.”

When he draws back, he has the audacity to not only wink at her but leave his hand on her leg for a lot longer than necessary, and she wonders if the show will be kind enough to edit it out if she punches him.

Probably not.

***

 

It's two days until they next have an opportunity to talk. Benvolio gets passed around from contestant to contestant, all of them scrambling to get some time alone with him, and Rosaline doesn't want to draw undue attention to herself. She uses the time instead to talk to the other contestants and, more importantly, to observe how the show is run behind the scenes. 

But if she's honest, it's not just research that makes her avoid putting herself in the spotlight near Benvolio: She completely underestimated how taxing it would be to be observed and prodded all day, to feel like she needs to watch every word she says and every little gesture or facial expression she makes. It gets to her more than she thought it would - and definitely more than it should, because by the time she's made it through two entire days of shooting without having to exchange more than a few words with Benvolio, the producers have noticed her apparent reticence around their Mister Right, and are not happy about it.

By the time three separate producers have pulled her aside with well-meaning advice to “just go for it” and “let him see the real you”, Rosaline is annoyed enough to resort to desperate measures: She pulls him aside at the next nightly cocktail party.

A little bit of coy small-talk, then Rosaline leans in, one hand deftly covering his clip-on microphone (she's already loosened the cable on her own beforehand to make sure her words aren't picked up) to whisper in his ear:

“We need to interact more. The producers are getting suspicious”

Benvolio doesn't get a chance to reply before he's whisked away again by another producer – clearly one of the ones who have given up on her already and don't want him to waste valuable shooting time on her – and Rosaline is left with the unpleasant sensation of actually feeling _nervous_ about whether or not Benvolio will pick her for the next group date.

He does, which reassures her that at least he still remembers what they're here for, despite all the bikini-clad women throwing themselves at him. That's the plus side.

The down side is that she actually has to go on the date now and participate in whatever demeaning activity the producers have come up with.

At least she's not alone: Three other women are carted with her to an old industrial building, renovated to house event locations and hip design workshops. They're ushered into an open loft, empty save for four tables with a gleaming silver serving dome sitting on each of them, where Benvolio welcomes them, smiling what Rosaline has dubbed his „Mister Right smile“ as he begins to explain the purpose of the date.

"All four of you have been invited on this date because I haven't had a chance to speak much to either of you, or if I have, I feel like I didn't get to know you as much as I'd like to. And I don't want you to feel like you're being pressured into telling me anything about you you're not comfortable with," Benvolio begins, and Rosaline thinks sarcastically that he might be the only one on set with that attitude – the producers certainly don't seem to care what any of the contestants are comfortable with when they keep hounding them for ever more personal insights.

"So I figured, maybe I could find another way for us to communicate, get to know each other a little better." He grins cheekily, and Rosaline decides that if he's hinting at something sexual, she's walking off that set then and there.

But instead of announcing some gross, demeaning, gimmicky activity, Benvolio lifts the giant silver serving dome sitting ominously on a table beside him to reveal...

"Chocolate! Today, you're going to create your own, bespoke chocolates. And since I want to get to know you better, you'll choose ingredients that represent your character."

That… is not what she expected. It's creative, unlikely to lead to humiliation, and most importantly, it includes chocolate, which Rosaline hasn't had since she moved into the mansion. Clearly, the producers are very anxious to keep the contestants in shape and in a bad mood – and even now, they're not actually allowed to eat any of the chocolate presented in mouth-watering amounts before them – for continuity's sake, they're told, which Rosaline guesses means the producers want to be able to cut and rearrange the scenes in an order that fits their narrative, rather than in the order they really happened.

She decides to at least try and snack on some of the chocolate later, under the guise of needing to taste it, and then begins to think about the task in earnest, too ambitious to enter a challenge without giving it her all - any challenge.

Of course, “her all“ will not include revealing anything true about her character: She'll throw together some random concoction of ingredients, and if pressed to explain the deeper psychological meaning behind thm, she'll make up something just cliché enough for the producers to be happy and not make her say some cheesy pre-scripted line. She could even use the opportunity to pick the most disgusting combination of ingredients possible just to mess with Benvolio, who will probably have to try her chocolate later and pretend to like it.

The prospect brightens her mood immediately.

Looking over the row of ingredients placed in neat little glass bowls before her, Rosaline gets to work on her creation, registering out of the corner of her eye that the other contestants are doing the same while Benvolio walks from table to table to peer over their shoulders and engage in flirtatious smalltalk. 

He tries to do the same when he reaches her, but Rosaline is bad at flirtatious smalltalk and caught up trying to gauge the perfect amount of sliced chili flakes to make her concoction truly ghastly without actually harming him, and he keeps walking on to the next contestant – but only to return again some time later, this time to step up close enough to her to lean in and whisper in her ear: 

“You're being suspiciously quiet. Are you concocting something nasty?” 

"Of course not,“ she says, smiling through gritted teeth when she spots the camera man following Benvolio around. 

Still, he sets up post at her worktable, watching her spoon chili flakes into her bowl. He does so silently, and between him and the camera man watching their lack of interaction with increasing exasperation, Rosaline gets desperate.

"So, art." Rosaline begins, frantically scrambling for something innocuous to say to initiate small-talk, and remembering that he mentioned his love of art in his introduction, so it won't raise suspicions if she knows about it. "What do you like about it?"

If this was a real date, with a guy she actually cared about, Rosaline would have had to suppress the urge to face-palm in frustration at posing such a painfully inane question. But Benvolio doesn't seem to mind.

"I like how simple it makes things."

" _Simple_?" That's not the impression she got from the one art history course she took in her first semester.

"Yes. If I want to communicate something and draw a picture of it, people will get the message, no matter what language they speak. They might get it right away or they might need some time to think, depending on my drawing skills, on the layers and symbolism I've used, the possible barrier of cultural shorthands… But either way, something will get communicated."

"Or you could use verbal communication, which allows for much greater precision."

"It also takes a lot more time though. Take, for example, a polical cartoon on the front page of a newspaper." The example is plucked so obviously from their shared background at the Gazette that Rosaline is afraid for a moment it will give away that they knew each other before the show - but Benvolio delivers it perfectly innocently. "It would take me no more than a few strokes of my pencil to make my point. How many words would it take you to achieve that verbal precision?"

"Enough to make sure I'd do justice to a complex topic rather than just break it down to the simplest possible message."

"Sure, you probably would do it more justice. But you also run the risk that people don't have the time to actually read your 5000-word-editorial, and thus never get your message at all." He flashes her a cocky grin. "But there's always time to look at a funny picture." 

"Yes, because that's what's going to stop the decline of news media - funny pictures."

"Oh, so now we're saving the entire news industry? That's ambitious." And then he has the audacity to wink at her. "I like a woman who's not afraid of a challenge." 

For a moment, Rosaline feels anger bubble up inside of her. How dare he dismiss her opinion like this; turn it into nothing more than a flirtatious joke for the cameras? Then it hits her: the cameras are exactly why he's doing this. Because while she was about to get carried away, he too knows they were talking about the Gazette just now, and their roles in it, and were getting dangerously close to revealing that they did in fact know each other before. 

So, unfortunately, it seems she'll have to not only admit that he's doing something right but follow his example as well. Casting a subtle glance around, she notices that the crew are looking decidedly bored while the producer in charge of the date is looking increasingly desperate at what she guesses isn't exactly very entertaining dialogue. 

Well, if they want something more entertaining, she'll give them more entertaining. 

"What if it's me who's the challenge?" 

"Then I guess I'll have to toughen up. But guess what," he leans forward across the workbench between them, voice dropping the way it did when he teased her at that first editorial meeting, "I'm not afraid of a challenge either." 

For a moment, he holds her gaze - and while she's still distracted trying to decide if there's a dash of green in his blue eyes, he reaches out to dip his finger in her pot of melted chocolate.

Quick as a flash, reflexes honed from years of taking care of Livia and Juliet, she slaps his wrist. With a yelp, he pulls back his hand.

"Hey!" 

"I wasn't finished." 

She adds two more spoonfuls of chili flakes to her bowl of chocolate, noting with satisfaction that his eyes widen with fear. But at the last moment, hand already poised over the bowl with another spoonful, she hesitates. Tempting as it is to watch him suffer through her hot mess of a chocolate creation, she feels a little guilty about planning it now. He did keep her from exposing her underwear the other night, and just now, he didn't mock her for her awkward attempt at small-talk but treated it like a real conversation. Those are tiny acts of kindness, yes, but they're acts of kindness nonetheless. 

She drops the flakes back into their container, and Benvolio lets out a silent sigh of relief - until, with one more spark of defiance, she reaches for her last ingredient, nothing as brutal as hot chili but still bad enough to make sure her chocolate is pretty much inedible. It's petty, she knows - after all, he's only here because of _her_ article. Still, it grates on her to have to suck up to a man she wouldn't bother with for more than one conversation outside of this show, and this is her small bit of resistance. Besides it wasn't her idea to bring him here - she wanted to do the whole thing alone, but Mercutio insisted it was a good idea to have him audition as well, and now she's stuck with him. 

Smiling, she mixes together her creation:  Peppermint, lavender blossoms and chili mixed in with dark chocolate - the smell alone is stomach-churning. 

But Benvolio, with a courage she can't help but be impressed by, actually takes a little silver spoon and dips it into the still-warm chocolate.

"Let's see what we can learn about you then, shall we?"

She watches with baited breath as he brings the spoon to his lips to taste her concoction, waiting for the entertainment sure to follow – but to her disappointment, Benvolio's pokerface is impeccable.

"Well, this is certainly interesting… Let's see…" he stares at the bowl of chocolate, pretending to think. "I'd say the peppermint is because you like fresh ideas and thinking outside the box. The chili is because you're temperamental." He actually goes back in for a second taste, slowly licking his lips as if to savour it, and Rosaline watches raptly with what she will later tell herself is disgust as his tongue darts out to clean the last of the chocolate off the spoon. "But the lavender is the most interesting part." He looks up from the bowl, seeking out her eyes now, and something shifts in his voice when he continues: "The lavender tells me you have a soft, romantic side as well."

It's exactly the kind of cheesy bullshit the producers will love, Rosaline knows, and that means she should be happy with him for a job well done. But there's something else, something in the way he looks at her with a softness that makes her feel like he's trying to figure her out...

But no, she tells herself, there's nothing behind that look – he's simply very good at giving the producers what they want.

“You've got me all figured out, it seems,” she teases, with a hint of sarcasm she tried and failed to suppress because she suddenly feels unbalanced, uprooted.

“Maybe not enough to build a life together.”

Again she has to remind herself that this is what his role entails: He's supposed to be a man looking to do just that – find a woman to build a life with.

“But I'm getting there.”

And with a cocky grin, he's back to his old, annoying self, and Rosaline can go back to trying to navigate the pitfalls of this show while taking note of everything she experiences for her article.

One of the other contestants calls Benvolio away just then, voice as sugary-sweet as the milk chocolate she chose for her creation, and he leaves with one more completely unneccessary wink.

For the rest of the shoot, Rosaline is left blessedly alone to munch on her leftover, non-horrifying chocolate and watch as Benvolio's pokerface finally seems to crack while trying his fourth kind of badly thought-out “bespoke chocolate”. _Thank God for small blessings_ , Rosaline thinks and breaks off another piece of unspoiled chocolate from her unused stash. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a ton of things going on lately and I'm still struggling to find the ideal pacing for this story, not to mention a whole lot of plot. But I'm still working on it and still having fun with it, so stick around if you are too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone surprising is going to make an appearance here, and I'm going to need you to trust me with it please.

After her first group date, and what she guesses was enough flirting to make the producers happy, Rosaline returns her attention to her task of spending as much time as she can talking, observing, and making mental notes for her article.

Still, if Rosaline thought going on one date was enough to take the heat off her for good, she was sorely mistaken. After all, in between dates there are the nightly cocktail parties where every contestant, gets her chance to snag a few minutes alone with Mister Right, and throughout the day, all the women who weren't chosen to go on the day's date are encouraged to try and do so by the producers.

"Don't you want him to notice you, see how perfect you could be for him?", the producers whisper in the contestants' ears, voice switching from promising to threatening in a matter of seconds. "After all, you don't want to be left behind again for the next date.“

With her attention so focused on observing the producers' tactics (difficult though it may be under continued sleep deprivation), Rosaline soon spots patterns of emotional abuse: The ceaseless tearing down of confidence, to be replaced with fear and insecurity – and then, when the person's self-esteem has been successfully torn down, the little crumbs of validation, glimpses of hope ("He spent more time talking to you last night than anyone else…"), and encouragements to really go all in now, no matter the cost… Only to be let down again when "going all in" does not yield the desired results.

Because the built-in Catch-22 of the show's format, of course, is that its "Mister Right", no matter how he tries to pay equal attention to all contestants (and, she has to admit, that is something Benvolio seems to be trying to do), can never focus on any one of them as much as they focus on him - there's still more than a dozen women, and only one of him. And those women have nothing more to do all day than obsess about him.

Contestants are not allowed to bring phones, laptops, books or anything else to distract themselves with, so talking, drinking, doing their hair and make-up and working out is pretty much all they can do to spend the time between shoots - and of course, worrying about how they'll get "Mister Right's" attention, and who among the women is getting more of it, and why.

But despite the tension - and despite the producers' frequent reminders that they are in fact rivals - friendships begin to blossom, with real conversations about the women's lives; their jobs, families, dreams and aspirations that go beyond "finding Mister Right" - although Rosaline is sure those moments won't make it into the finished episode when it airs. Too precious is the show's central narrative of women fighting over the supposed perfect man, as if women these days had nothing better to do. In order to keep up that narrative, the producers do whatever they can to fan the flames of jealousy and discontent - planting gossip here, zeroing in on a contestant's body issues there, dropping snide remarks about how contestant so-and-so has already been on more dates than anyone else, and how she might be thinking she already conquered "Mister Right's" heart. 

Even far away from the center of the action, it's exhausting, and coupled with the fact that shoots tend to start early and run late, Rosaline soon feels like she's turning into exactly the kind of high-strung, neurotic, easily upset person the producers want to see (and film) breaking down. It doesn't help that she can't even really talk to anyone about what's bothering her. There are a few contestants that seem like she might actually want to be friends with them - but for now, in their eyes at least, they're still rivals. More importantly, Rosaline is afraid that if she starts to talk about how the constant pressuring and manipulation are getting on her nerves, she'll accidentally let it slip that in fact everything about this show, including its "Mister Right" is getting on her nerves, and that she doesn't actually want to be here in the first place. So, to avoid blowing her cover, Rosaline holds her tongue, acts like all of this is perfectly normal and not stressful at all, and secretly misses Livia and Juliet like crazy.

At least Rosaline has some luck: Both of the women she shared a room with in the beginning get eliminated in the early rounds of the show, which means she ends up with a bedroom to herself. After being cooped up with so many other people all day, getting a chance to just be alone for a few hours is a huge relief – but as luck would have it, she doesn't even get to enjoy her first night alone in over a week.

She's just settled into bed after a long shower and a relaxing face mask – books and newspapers may be banned, but beauty products are fair game – when there's a knock on her door.

She opens it to find Benvolio outside, the hood of his sweater pulled down to hide his face - they have reason to suspect there might be hidden cameras in addition to the ones operated by the camera crew during shoots, so it's a smart move. Still, Rosaline quickly pulls him into her room before someone can spot him.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Immediately, irritation turns into worry. Did he find out something truly disturbing? Was his cover blown? But then he wouldn't be stupid enough to ruin hers as well, would he?

"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to check in with you, now that you have a room of your own."

He pulls off his hood, then takes a step back to study her.

"How are you holding up?"

Briefly, she considers telling him it's all good, and how she's doing is nothing for him to concern himself with. But he sounds so genuine, and she's been feeling so alone, so vulnerable to the production crew's emotional manipulation, that the idea that just one person in this place _actually_ wants to know how she's feeling, and not just to capture her answer on camera, is too much to resist. So she lets slip a little bit of weakness in exchange for some sympathy. 

"Tired. Like, finals week-tired. Between recap interviews at five in the morning and reshoots for the cocktail party in the middle of the night, we're not getting a lot of sleep."

Benvolio's face turns soft with what she realizes is pity, and that doesn't sit right with her either. Ahe doesn't want him to think that she's already regretting this, gay she's not strong enough to follow through on her own assignment. 

"But now that I snagged a single room, at least what little sleep I'll get will be uninterrupted."

In her attempt to make sure he  can't judge her for being weak or whiny, her voice tips over into too cheerful, and Benvolio doesn't seem convinced.

"What else? Any of the stuff we heard they've been doing to contestants in the past?"

He walks past her to sit on one of the empty beds and Rosaline follows his lead and sits down crosslegged at the foot of her own to face him.

"Well, they haven't really focused on me much, but they did try a few times to get me to crack." 

"How are they doing that?" 

"Oh, you know, trying to figure out what my insecurities are, digging into my romantic history…" She hesitates, then surprises herself by continuing with her list, the part of it that's difficult to talk about no matter how much she tries to pretend otherwise. "They brought up my parents' death once. Stuff like that."

"They went for that?" Benvolio seems truly shocked, and she wonders just how naively he went into this thing.

"Of course they did. I'm guessing they figured if they're not going to get any crazy antics or, I don't know, a spontaneous strip tease out of me, they might as well go for the tears."

Again there's that flicker of pity on his face, mixed in with something else that makes her wonder if he's thinking of his own parents, who, Mercutio told her, died in a plane crash when he was very young.

"And then there's the alcohol," she quickly continues. "Like, constantly. Mimosas for breakfast, cocktails by the pool, wine with dinner, champagne for the elimination ceremony… They're always trying to get us drunk. You'd better watch out on your little one-on-one meetings – half the girls you're making out with are completely shitfaced."

"Is it seriously that bad?"

"Yes." It took her a while to catch on, but now Rosaline is sure the alcohol is part of the producers' strategy to leave the contestants vulnerable and catch them off their guard – not to mention, make them act more forward around Benvolio.

Benvolio's face falls at her admission, and it doesn't take a genius to guess why.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but these women are not ragingly attracted to you after all – they're just drunk and desperate."

"God, that's horrible."

Rosaline is about to snap that really, the tiny dent to his ego is not the biggest problem with that situation when he continues:

"The crew are always pushing me to be more assertive, make a move on a woman whenever I can… if I had known they were drunk, I would have never even considered it."

Horror morphs into anger on his face, and Rosaline feels bad for her assumptions. Apparently, he is able to think of someone beside himself after all.

"That is some rapey bullshit!"

For a moment, Rosaline is pleasantly surprised by his apparent disgust – then she understands what's really behind it.

"You slept with them, didn't you."

Now he actually seems… angry?

"Seriously, Capulet? I mean, it's clear you think I'm some sort of relentless manwhore, but come on. You really think I'd sleep with someone here, after knowing them no more than a few days?"

Rosaline doesn't know what to reply – that's pretty much exactly what she thought.

"I didn't sleep with anyone. There are cameras around everywhere, remember?”

There aren't any cameras on them right now, Rosaline wants to point out, but Benvolio is already continuing.

“But that doesn't mean that nothing at all happened, and I'd hate to think that any of the women are regretting that, or that they weren't thinking all that clearly."

Now he looks so distressed that Rosaline actually feels a little sorry for him. But maybe she can help?

"Who did you…" she gestures vaguely. "Whatever you did?"

He has the audacity to laugh at her embarrassed bumbling.

"Stella, mostly. And nothing all that bad happened anyway – just some enthusiastic kissing." Then he actually winks, apparently proud of his own bragging. " _Very_ enthusiastic."

Rosaline tries to focus on what the point of this conversation was, rather than how insanely weird it is to be talking to Benvolio Montague about his televised romantic exploits.

"There are a couple of contestants who have figured out the alcohol strategy and are trying to steer clear of most of it. Stella's one of them, I think."

He looks relieved and Rosaline smirks just to distract herself from the fact that apparently, Benvolio Montague has more depth than she assumed.

"Still, it might be better if you tried to keep it in your pants. Disappointing as that may seem."

"Don't worry, I'll manage."

Now he sounds cocky again, which means all is once more as it should be: Benvolio Montague thinks he's God's gift to women, and Rosaline knows he's not.

But the smugness doesn't last.

"We got a little sidetracked though - are you sure you're alright?"

"Like I said - just tired. Sure, they're trying to get to me. But it's nothing I can't handle."

He looks skeptical but he still nods, as if deciding to trust her judgment – and to surprise her once more.

"If it ever gets too much, if you need me to distract them, let me know okay? I know we're not... friends, exactly – but for now, we're all we've got. We need to work together here."

That's… an interesting take on the situation, and one Rosaline hadn't considered before. So far, she's seen Benvolio's presence here as nothing more than an additional annoyance to put up with during an already difficult mission, and useful only for the additional insights into the show he can provide. The idea that he could be an ally too, someone to rely on for support, or to take the heat off her when the producers get pushy again… that's a new thought, and one she has yet to wrap her head around. 

She's still working on that when he gets to his feet. 

"I should get back to my room, before I get caught here. Besides, I'm guessing you have to get up early tomorrow?" 

Rosaline shrugs. 

"Probably. They never tell us beforehand, they just wake us whenever. I guess it keeps us from developing a rhythm."

Benvolio makes a sympathetic face. 

"They really know their stuff, don't they?" 

Then he does make good on his plan to sneak out again - almost: He's already by the door when he turns around once more. 

"Oh, before I forget: That strip tease you mentioned - was that an actual plan? And more importantly…", he pauses, grins: "Are you considering it?"

"Get out."

She emphasizes the order by throwing a pillow at his head - but her aim is off, her voice isn't as harsh as it should be, and Benvolio leaves with a quiet laugh.

*** 

 

But just because he's shown a tiny glimpse of decency doesn't mean that Benvolio isn't still being unbearably obnoxious the rest of the time. Because the very thing she hates the most about the show, the catfights and jealousies and manufactured drama and the entire narrative of women fighting over a man - he seems to be unabashedly enjoying those aspects of the show. 

He may have convincingly claimed to feel bad about the possibility of taking advantage of drunk contestants. But there's no way in hell he's not enjoying the fact that all these women are supposedly willing to bend over backwards just to get his attention - this is made more than obvious by his little smirk when he gathers the eight women chosen to go on today's date to proclaim gleefully: 

"Ladies, today I want to see if you're willing to fight for my heart - literally." 

This is followed by giggles and titters as the gate behind him swings open to reveal some sort of gym building, and right inside the gate, a row of mannequins equipped with white vests, netted helmets, and gleaming, narrow-tipped swords. 

"Today, we're going to learn how to fence!" 

Well, Rosaline thinks wrily, it's better than mud-wrestling, even if the thought of fighting over this guy is more than ridiculous.

Still, despite her irritation at Benvolio's delivery of the challenge, the activity itself isn't so bad. It starts with a short and surprisingly interesting overview of the sport, before the fencing instructor begins showing them the basics of stance and grip, and before long, Rosaline is completely engrossed in trying to copy the instructor's seemingly effortless motions without dropping her weapon. It is a fascinating sport, she has to admit, and when the instructor tells them to pair up in twos and face off on the long, narrow mats laid out on the he floor, Rosaline is itching to get started on swinging and stabbing, feeling a little like a swashbuckling hero from a movie.

The contestant she's paired up with, a slender blonde named Helena, is one she's talked to a few times before and who seemed nice and intelligent and easy to get along with. Unlike some of the other contestants, Helena seems to be having just as much fun as Rosaline and, more importantly, she shows no signs of holding back, or of being more worried about looking good than about actually applying what they've learned. She fights fairly but without holding back, and Rosaline finds it easy to get into a rhythm of parry and attack. 

Soon, the practiced movements become a little more automatic so that Rosaline doesn't have to consciously think about what she's doing anymore. Instead, she observes her opponent, trying to spot patterns and weaknesses and use them to her advantages, and when the instructor calls an end to the first round, Rosaline is the clear winner, and goes on to spar against one of the other winners – and the next one after that, until she's finally left in the final round of their little tourney. Her enjoyment of the activity doesn't wane even as exhaustion begins to set in, and her natural competitiveness does its part to keep her staying focused and giving it her all.

At the end of the final round, Rosaline is declared the winner and handed a single rose by Benvolio – grinning as usual, and no doubt thinking that her dedication to the challenge is in any way indicative of her personal feelings for him. The rose itself is a coveted trophy, granting her immunity at the next round of eliminations, and earning her envious looks from the other contestants. But Rosaline, blood still pumping from her last fight, can't quite get herself to feign the expected joy at the special gift as something else occurs to her.

"What about you though?"

Benvolio looks confused.

"What about me?"

"You're not going to fight?"

"Why would I, when I can watch eight beautiful women fight over me instead?"

“Maybe because those women would like to see what you're made of, too? I mean, if you're going to “build a life” with one of us, shouldn't _you_ prove yourself too?”

And before he can come up with an excuse, or any of the producers can interfere, she's picked up her opponent's abandoned weapon to hold it out to him.

“Unless you're not up for it?”

Something flashes in his eyes – but it's followed immediately by a cocky grin as he takes the proffered weapon.

“Oh, I'm up for it.”

From the side, the instructor steps forward as if to interfere, perhaps to point out that Benvolio isn't wearing a protective jacket and Rosaline has abandoned her mask after her win, but a producer subtly pulls her back. Apparently, the chance to get some unplanned footage overrides any safety concerns.

Of course, their weapons are all blunt, so Rosaline doesn't think there's much of a safety concern anyway even if she does not hold back on her hits. Besides, it soon turns out, Benvolio is definitely not new at this and can easily defend himself from most of her attacks. The fact that he does so with a smug little smirk at every parry enrages her enough to make her forget that she's already been at this for God knows how long. She comes at him with all her remaining strength, trying to compensate for his obvious advantage in skill and training with sheer determination, and Benvolio clearly notices.

At one point, after she actually managed to land two consecutive hits and he seems to be getting worried about losing face, Benvolio – in a move that she's pretty sure is not permitted by official rules – blocks her weapon and then deftly moves in, trapping the thin sword between her body and his before she has a chance to retreat and gain her footing for another attack. Then he leans in close to whisper in between their crossed blades:

"Got it out of your system yet?"

It takes her a moment to realise what he means: Apparently, Benvolio assumes that she's using this fight as an outlet for the frustration she expressed last night. It shows a surprising amount of consideration for her feelings, not to mention proves that he actually listened to her, and Rosaline is very briefly touched by this fact – and then, immediately after, annoyed at letting it get to her.

"No," she growls, and with strength she didn't know she had left in her, she pushed back against his blade, managing to gain enough space to scramble backwards and get back into position, sword arm steady and eyebrow raised challengingly. For a moment, Benvolio is only looking at her, and Rosaline is gripped with the sudden fear that he'll make fun of her – tell her she's acting like a lunatic, that she's way too intense, that this is all just good-natured fun and she's overdoing it.

Instead, he gets back into the basic fighting stance they've been taught first thing this morning, raises his weapon and charges, a wicked little smile on his face when she has to scramble to get her defense ready. With the first hit on her arm, a surprisingly sharp lash, Rosaline's competitiveness is awakened once more, and soon it feels like nothing exists except for the two of them, the metallic clang when their weapons clash together and the shuffle of their feet when they draw apart to prepare for another attack.

Now that he made her think of it, Rosaline realises that maybe she is using this chance to vent her frustrations, and that apparently, there have been a lot more anger and tension building up inside her over the past few days than she thought. And really, what better way to deal with those frustrations than by whaling down on someone – and what better person to come at with a sharp object than Benvolio Montague? Not only is he enjoying this whole set-up a little too much, but despite last night's glimpse of decency, she has still to assume that he is not a _great_ person, in general.

Not to mention, it turns out Benvolio is actually not above playing dirty: Just when she's landed a few hard hits in a row and he seems to be getting tired, he suddenly pitches forward, hooks his foot through hers, and brings them both down.

Rosaline lands with a soft "oof" on the thin mat, and before she can catch her breath, Benvolio lands on top of her. He catches himself on his elbows so as not to crush her, which she's thankful for, but he's still very much pressed against her almost from head to toe, and his face is suddenly very close; an unexpected fixed point against the blurry background of the gym ceiling.

This close, she can make out details of his face she wasn't aware of before: the tiny bump on the ridge of his nose, the smudges under his eyes, almost but not completely covered by the special tv make-up they put on him that indicate that he isn't getting that much sleep either; or the fact that softness in his gaze is even more apparent up close, even more startling. Like her, he's breathing hard from the exertion of their fight, and she can feel his chest rising and falling against hers even through the stiff material of the protective jacket. It's almost in sync with her own breathing, she notices, which makes it even more difficult to recall where her body ends and his begins. When he speaks, she can feel the hum of it in her ribcage.

"You alright?"

She nods, a little dazed still from having the wind knocked out of her.

Behind them, someone says something that Rosaline doesn't quite catch but that makes the group of women break out into cheers, and Benvolio's soft almost-smile morphs back into that familiar amused grin.

"Looks like you win on a technicality," he says before pulling away and getting to his feet.

Rosaline remains on her back for a moment longer, trying to pierce together what just happened. She doesn't quite finish before Benvolio holds out a hand to pull her up and she takes it. Standing upright seems to put the world back onto its axis, thankfully, and Rosaline's brain is once more capable of processing information - first of all the fact that apparently, Benvolio would have beaten her by points, if he hadn't decided to bring her to the floor in a move so illegal it earned him enough penalty points to cancel out his advantage.

"That's what you get for playing dirty," Rosaline teases, and some of the contestants behind her break out into renewed cheers before storming the mat to flock around them and congratulate her.

Benvolio holds her gaze even as they're pushed apart by the rest of the group. His reply doesn't come as easily as his witticisms usually do, delayed by a moment that feels almost contemplative.

“Yes,“ he eventually concedes, “that's what I get, I guess.“

When his easy smile finally follows the words, Rosaline is almost relieved, even if she thinks it doesn't look quite as bright as it usually does – but then, that's probably just because he's still winded from their fight.

She turns her attention to the other contestants as they sweep her off, and by the time they reach the locker rooms, she's almost sure that there was nothing weird about him at all just now.

And even if there was – why should she care?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, introducing Helena here was probably unexpected. But I promise I have no intention of erasing her sexuality, or her beautiful relationship with Isabella. I just really like her as an ally for Rosaline.


	5. Chapter 5

After getting paired up with Helena, Rosaline spends more time with her fencing partner - sitting together in the garden and chatting over this and that, making fun of the producers or wondering what strategies the other contestants might be working with. Helena seems to be genuinely open to the idea of finding romance here, but refreshingly, she's still far from naive about how the show works.

“I know it doesn't get aired the way it happens. I know they blow things out of proportion for the drama, and that they try to get us to be super emotional on camera. But even if the drama is overblown and the romantic moments are manufactured, the people here are still real, right? I mean,” Helena turns further towards Rosaline on the patio lounger they're both sprawled out on, “take the fencing date, for example. You challenging Benvolio to a fight? That wasn't the producers' idea, was it? That was all you.”

Rosaline freezes. Just how obvious is her reluctance to play along with the producers' plans? And what is Helena making of it? Is she suspecting that Rosaline isn't really here for "Mister Right"?

But the suspicious follow-up she's expecting never comes: Helena just keeps looking at her expectantly, a tiny conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips.

“Yup, all me,” Rosaline admits, and when Helena doesn't jump up to yell “gotcha!”, she expands: “It just seemed unfair that he got to stand by and watch us sweat.”

"Definitely unfair.”

Helena's smile broadens.

“And it seemed like Benvolio had fun joining in – I think he likes you.”

Rosaline suppresses an incredulous snort. That... is definitely not what that moment was about. Although, to be honest, she isn't entirely sure _what_ it was about, really...

“If that's the case, should you be telling me? We're supposed to be rivals, after all.”

Helena rolls her eyes playfully.

“Oh please, the whole rivals thing gets blown way out of proportion here. I mean, I know they have to play that up for ratings, but honestly, at the end of the day, what's the point of wasting time on petty fights with the other contestants? You can't force someone to fall in love with you. It either happens or it doesn't.”

“Tell that to the producers.” Rosaline makes a face. “I'm pretty sure they think they can force anyone in here to do anything they like.”

“Come on, they're not all terrible.”

Just when she thought she'd found one sane person in this hellhole, Rosaline thinks while trying not to be disappointed,

“They're not exactly on our side either.”

“Why do there need to be sides?”

“Come on, you know their job is to make sure we're unbalanced and emotional and sure to do crazy shit for the cameras.”

“Maybe that's true for some of them...” Now Helena is sounding unsure, almost as if she's trying to convince herself as much as Rosaline. “But some really are nice. Isabella for example - she seems to mean well...”

Rosaline hasn't really had much to do with the producer in question – she suspects the producers are assigned to specific contestants, and she herself doesn't seem to be on Isabella's list. She'll have to trust Helena's word on Isabella's intentions, and her new friend seems genuinely convinced that at least some of the producers mean well – but these are people whose very job it is to manipulate and trick the contestants, to wear them down until they provide those juicy tears and fights and breakdowns. Rosaline remains skeptical, but she keeps her protest to herself – she just made a friend. There's no need to drive her off now.

***

 

Unfortunately, having made a friend doesn't really help her much when the next group date comes around and Rosaline is picked as a participant while Helena remains at the mansion.

It's a small group setting out, just Benvolio, Rosaline, and two other contestants, and all they learn of the date beforehand is Benvolio's cryptic hint that it has something to do with his passion for art.

Which of course leads Rosaline to assume – somewhat naively perhaps – that they're going to a museum or a gallery or something similar, when instead…

" _Body_ painting?"

Incredulous, Rosaline looks at the tableau before her: the tarp-covered deck on a rooftop terrace overlooking the bay, the array of plant-based colors ("Completely edible", the instructor tells them with a cheeky wink), and Benvolio's smug grin, and wonders if ever a contestant threw herself off a rooftop terrace during a group date.

Benvolio notices her less-than-amused expression.

"Why not? It's fun!"

"It's just an excuse to film us groping each other."

Benvolio winks.

"That's what makes it fun."

The other two contestants titter at his joke and immediately begin taking off their clothes, to show they're not as stuck-up as Rosaline no doubt, and Benvolio is momentarily distracted by the sudden onslaught of gravity-defying swimsuits and their well-displayed contents.

Rosaline chooses to keep her sundress on and hang back. She doesn't know what exactly Benvolio has planned, but she sees no reason why her canvas should not be restricted to her arms and shoulders.

She should have known she wouldn't get away with it.

Despite the crew's repeated prodding, Rosaline manages to stay out of the worst of it, idly mixing colors and pretending to think of something to draw until Benvolio – now down to his swim shorts as well – and the other contestants are already thoroughly splattered in paint. But just when she thinks she might escape with her dignity intact, the production crew's patience runs out. At least, she assumes it's the crew behind it: As one of the other contestants goes to get a drink from the bar, she gets pulled aside by one of the assistants for a short conversation - and then makes a beeline straight for Rosaline's quiet place by the paint selection.

"So, Rosaline," she begins innocently, and Rosaline knows that some sort of snide remark is coming her way, "is there any particular reason you're so uptight? I mean, is it a religious thing or...?"

Rosaline smiles through gritted teeth.

"No particular reason. This just… isn't my thing, I guess."

"Not a great strategy to get his attention though, is it?"

She nods over to the plastic-covered deckchair where "Mister Right" is currently focusing all his attention on their other rival, carefully recreating Van Gogh's “Starry Night” on the woman's torso. Rosaline rolls her eyes at the clichéd choice, but she has to admit he is very cleverly blending the yellow bandeau top of the woman's swimsuit into the artwork. She has no doubt the woman would not hesitate to take the garment off entirely, but that would mean extra work for the editing team that would have to pixellate her nipples. It's been made clear on their first day that the contestants are welcome to show as much skin as possible as long as it's not the kind of skin that requires censuring, and some of her fellow contestants are experts at toeing that line.

To her surprise, Benvolio doesn't seem to be as invested in his task as she first thought: Perhaps sensing their eyes on him, he looks up to shoot them a quick smile.

“I hope you're not getting bored, ladies – I promise, I'll be right with you.”

Again he surprises them by actually following through on his promise: Not a minute later, he sets aside his brush and declares his work of art finished. The contestant makes a big show of admiring herself in the full-length mirror set up to the side and declaring how much she loves it, and Rosaline ponders idly how unfair it is that even on a show that could not be any further removed from reality, everything seems designed to make men feel good about themselves while pitthing women against each other.

Then she notices Benvolio's expression, not smug for once but genuinely pleased, and feels her irritation soften a little bit. It's not like the woman was lying: His interpretation of the masterpiece, unorthodox though it may be, really is well done, and it's obvious that he put a lot of practice into honing his skills. She can't begrudge him for being proud of _that_ , she guesses.

“So, what are we talking about?” Benvolio plops down on the patio lounger beside them, but not before chivalrously helping his human canvas sit down without smudging the paint.

“I was just asking Rosaline why she didn't want to participate in the date”, supplies the contestant to her right, skilfully bringing the subject back to Rosaline. Which means now she has to either find a distraction or a good defense – but before she can come up with either, Benvolio interjects.

"Hey, it's cool – not everyone is comfortable with everything." For a moment, Benvolio looks at her in that way that makes her think that perhaps there's a brain under all that hair product after all, then the smug grin is back. "Although I would hate it if you were bored on our date. Are you sure you don't want to at least try it?"

Rosaline is about to reply that she's perfectly fine where she is, thank you, when the thorn in her side makes herself noticed _again_.

"Don't bother, Ben – she's too scared to even try."

She knows it's a provocation designed to goad her into participating in this ridiculous date, knows that she values herself too much to join in this ridiculous competition – and still Rosaline can't stop herself.

“Scared of _what_? This master artist here?”, she nods disparagingly at Benvolio, feeling just a tiny little bit bad because not only was his stripper Van Gogh not bad, but she secretly even likes his illustrations for the _Gazette_. She wouldn't go so far as to tell him so to his face, but there's something playfully nostalgic about his style that is hard to resist.

Benvolio takes the dig in stride.

“You know, if you're going to question my skills, you'll have to at least give me a chance to prove myself.”

"Meaning?"

"Meaning maybe you should give me a chance to actually paint something before you decide to hate it."

She doesn't know what to say to that, and Benvolio seems to take her silence for acquiescense. Grabbing a palette, he begins to squirt some colors on it, looking back and forth between her and the paint choices with sudden, startling concentration. His intensity is disorienting, and by the time he's done choosing his palette – a selection of green, white and gold, with a splash of fuchsia to match her sundress and pop against her skin – she's already irritated again.

He turns to her with a grin, all seriousness gone again as quickly as it appeared.

“Ready?” With a cheeky wink, he picks up a fine brush and steps closer. “I promise, I'll be gentle.”

Since she can't show her irritation with the cameras on her, Rosaline refrains from rolling her eyes. But something needs to be done to take him down a peg or two, make sure she's not the only one going into this nervous and unsettled. And apparently, her subconscious decides that there's only one way to do that.

Before she knows what she's doing, Rosaline has whipped off her dress (they're instructed to wear bathing suits to most of their dates, as if true romance required one to be ready to drop trou at any given moment) and is standing before him in her swimsuit. The two-piece is a lot more modest than the micro-bikinis sported by some of the other contestants, but her move still has the intended effect: Benvolio's eyes widen, his hands freeze mid-air with the palette dipped at a rather precarious angle, and finally, it's Rosaline's turn to smirk.

“Ready when you are.”

There, she thinks triumphantly, he's not the only one who can play it cool.

But playing it cool, it turns out, is harder than she thought it would be, especially when Benvolio steps closer with his eyes fixed on her – not because he's checking her out, she realizes, but because he's planning his art. Being at the receiving end of such intense focus is strange, but there's also something about it that's oddly... entrancing.

She watches as he finally seems to decide where to start, then sucks in a breath when the bristles of the brush make contact with her shoulder. They're soft, gliding across her skin without the slightest scratch or resistance, and Benvolio easily steers them into intricate twists and turns to create vibrant green shapes on her skin – leaves, she realizes, connected by fine, curling twines. She follows the journey of the brush along her skin with her eyes, down from the rounded edge of her shoulder to her elbow and finally her wrist.

Benvolio makes sure to only paint on the outside of her arm so the lines won't get smudged when her arm rubs up against her side, but after a moment, he seems to decide that her hands are safe territory. He picks up her hand with his free one to hold it still and holds on to it, occasionally turning it to make it easier for his other hand to continue its work.

His fingertips are warm and soft against her palm, his grip light and careful to match the delicate strokes of the brush as it sends leaves twining down the back of her hand to taper off over her knuckles, and Rosaline is suddenly more aware of the touch of his fingertips than of the brush, his thumb digging ever-so-lightly into the dip of her palm in a way that makes her muse how it's possible that such a harmless body part can suddenly feel like such an intimate place.

She almost lets out a relieved sigh when he's finally done with her hand, carefully setting down her arm so it hangs flat along her side while the paint dries. Looking down at the intricate vines all along her arm, she's certain that he must be finished now. But Benvolio, after stepping back for a moment to muster his work, picks up his palette again, grabs a clean brush, and resumes his work.

The lush green leaves get a golden trim, the vines a white glow as if backlit by some mysterious light, cast by magic perhaps. This time, the lines are even more delicate than before, and the tip of the brush is barely touching her skin, dancing along it in a maddening almost-touch instead.

Without even noticing, Rosaline's breathing gets a little deeper, her heartbeat a little slower as she lets herself be lulled into a trance by the movements of the brush, slow and steady and yet never quite predictable. For the first time in she doesn't know how long, she feels calm; not acutely aware of the cameras on her, not particularly aware of anything really, other than the drag of the brush against her skin, the occasional tug of Benvolio's hand to move her arm into a more accessible position, the warm wind brushing her skin and tugging at her hair... and then Benvolio looks up from her wrist, and his clear blue gaze (or is it green?) hits her like an electric shock.

Rosaline abruptly tugs her hand out of his grip, but if he notices, Benvolio doesn't let on.

“Alright,” he says as he gently turns her to face away from him, “one last thing, and we're done.”

The brush-strokes start up again, on her shoulder blade this time, and Rosaline cranes her head to try and watch what he's doing – only to startle at just how close he is suddenly, his head bent over her shoulder where he's starting to outline a lush, fuchsia-coloured hibiscus flower. She can feel the warmth radiating off his chest, the occasional puff of air when his breath hits her skin, and she scrambles to focus on anything other than, well, him.

Movement out of the corner of her eye distracts her, and following it, she sees that the microphone operator has stepped away from them to sit down just out of range of the camera still glued to them. He msut have decided that their dialogue is too sparse and too boring to capture - which means that, with their clip-on microphones abandoned along with her dress and his shirt, they're momentarily free of any eavesdropping technology.

Voice low and lips stiff so the crew doesn't notice, Rosaline addresses Benvolio:

“I can't believe you took me along to _this_.”

Benvolio lifts his head a little, momentarily startled out of his concentration and then almost immediately smugly amused.

“What, you thought I wouldn't retaliate for that horrible chocolate you made me eat?”

“I didn't _make_ you do anything.”

“Maybe not,” he concedes, shrugging. “And yet, here we are.”

That's all he has to say on the issue, and the fact that he's not arguing his point more fervently makes irritation flare up inside her. But Benvolio is calm as usual, finishing up his work with one last flourishing brush stroke and then stepping back to study her. No, Rosaline reminds herself, to study his _work_. Her body is nothing more than the canvas he painted it onto.

And suddenly his hands are on that body again, warm and firm on the small of her back and on her unpainted shoulder when he steers her over to the floor length mirror.

“What do you think?”

From her deck-chair, the contestant draped in van Gogh coos something about wonderful artwork and talented hands, but Rosaline isn't listening – and neither is Benvolio, she notices: He's standing behind her just like he did before, just a tad closer than necessary, his eyes fixed on hers in the mirror – waiting, and for once, free of that cocky glint.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosaline sees the sound guy move closer, perhaps after getting admonished for being lazy, and she knows she has to say something – but her throat feels dry and her brain can't seem to come up with any of the gushing praise no doubt expected of her.

“I like it.”

Next to the sound guy, the producer rolls her eyes at the less-than-sparkling reply. But Benvolio smiles, seeming genuinely pleased, and Rosaline can't help but smile back. She does like his artwork, from an aesthetic standpoint – even if getting it onto her skin was a process she doesn't want to repeat in her lifetime.

***

 

After the initial fun of watching the show from the comfortable fluffy sofas of Juliet's sorority house, Mercutio and Juliet decide that it's time to get serious about their project. After all, the plan is for them to take notes on how the episodes are edited and how their two moles are presented so Rosaline and Benvolio can later tell them what really happened – and doing so is kind of difficult with twenty excited undergrads around them commenting on every scene, discussing "Mister Right's" qualities and placing bets on their favorites among the contestants.

So they move their watching sessions into the editorial rooms at the _Gazette_ – much to Escalus' chagrin, because it doesn't take long before their sessions draw in more and more viewers. This sort of defeats the purpose of moving here to observe in peace, unfortunately, because the other editors get increasingly invested in the fabricated storylines, with one junior editor in particular likely to yell suggestions at whatever contestant is currently on screen.

Today, he's been having a lot of opinions of the day's date, which takes the small group _body painting_ of all things. Juliet wrinkles her nose when the set-up of the date is first revealed, and judging by her cousin's face in a reaction shot of the contestants, Rosaline isn't crazy about the idea either. But while Rosaline hangs back – something Mercutio has noticed and bemoaned several times before – the other contestants are going along eagerly, whipping off their clothes almost immediately to use the opportunity to show off their bikini bodies. So far, the only thing surprising about the episode is that the art comes out looking a lot less tacky than the set-up would allow for – but then, Benvolio _is_ pretty talented, Juliet has always found (an opinion she has learned not to utter around her cousin).

And then it's Rosaline, of all people, who puts a sudden twist to the episode.

For some unknown (or, more likely, unaired) reason, Rosaline suddenly decides to participate in the activity after all – and to everyone's shock, she does so by copying her fellow contestants and whipping off her sundress as well.

“Damn, girl!”, the comment-prone junior exclaims at the bold move.

At his desk by the window, Escalus scoffs audibly. Their editor-in-chief has been very pointedly staring at his laptop screen, supposedly editing an article, but Juliet has a suspicion his attention isn't _entirely_ on _Gazette_ work right now. Sure, he pretends not to be watching – but that pretense goes right out the window when the junior editor continues his running commentary.

On the screen, Benvolio spends what seems like a suspiciously long time adorning Rosaline's shoulders, arms and hands with green and gold leaves, soft touches while she's standing perfectly still, and it's clear that _something_ is happening – or at the very least, the editing wants to make it seem so.

“Is it just me or can you literally see the sparks fly right now?”

The question was posed to the room in general, but Juliet looks at Mercutio and subtly nods her agreement. The sparks are so obvious it's beginning to feel a little weird to be watching the two, and more than a little voyeuristic. She feels like the kinder move would be to leave the two alone, no cameras, no millions of viewers... But of course, that is exactly the point of the show.

Apparently, the others in the room are not sharing any of Juliet's scruples, instead watching the on-camera intimacy of two people they know in real life with the same enthusiasm as one would a telenovela or a juicy rom-com.

“Just bang already,” the overenthusiastic junior editor yells at the screen, and at his desk, Escalus slams shut his laptop so loudly everyone jumps in surprise.

“That's your fellow editor. Don't talk about her like that.”

He doesn't think to include Benvolio in his defense, Juliet notices – but with one look at Escalus' stony face, she decides to keep that observation to herself.

The junior editor who just cheered their two moles on seems to have no similar self-preservation instinct.

“Come on, we have eyes – it's super obvious how hot they are for each other.”

If looks could kill, Escalus would have one less junior editor on his staff.

“You know they edit it to make it look like that. And of course they have to pretend to be attracted to each other, or their cover will be blown.” Escalus sounds a little like he's trying to make himself believe it, and Juliet hides a smirk. She's not too sure about the “pretend” part, to be honest – her cousin has never been very good at hiding her emotions, let alone lying, and she can't imagine that getting any easier with a bunch of cameras around.

Next to her, Mercutio leans back in his creaking desk chair with a satisfied smirk, confidently putting his feet up on the desk.

“I have to say, this is coming along beautifully.”

“Cheers to that,” Juliet says, clinking her beer against his.

Escalus storms out with a huff.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I think I'm slowly getting a handle on the plot here. For now, some more awkward sexual tension, Benvolio being a little shit (and also possibly capable of hypnosis), and Rosaline being in denial.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I put off posting this chapter for several days bc I wasn't happy with it, but now I think I am. 
> 
> Just one word of warning: This chapter gets a little dark, with mentions of cyber bullying and hate speech. Not too explicit, but the topic comes up.

For all its awkwardness, the body painting date pays off in one way: After the obligatory post-date-interview the producers leave her alone the next day, and Rosaline can once more focus on doing research for her article – with unexpected help from Benvolio, who comes by her room again in the evening to compare notes. Rosaline briefly wonders if that's going to be a regular occurrence now, and then why the thought makes her oddly nervous. After all, comparing notes is a good idea – this way, she knows what's going on at his end of the production process and can make mental notes for her article. And without her phone, laptop, or even a simple notepad she can't take physical notes of her observations, so sharing them with someone else will make it easier to recall them after the shooting ends.

Still, it's weird to be suddenly alone with him in her quiet bedroom, watching as he once again sits down on the other bed a few feet away and remembering how much closer he was on yesterday's date – close enough for her so feel his body heat and his breath, and yet focused only on his work while her thoughts ran confused circles trying to escape his sudden nearness... But she can't let those memories distract her, Rosaline reminds herself sternly. It was a performance for the cameras – nothing more.

Benvolio certainly doesn't seem to be fazed, doesn't even mention the date to tease her about it, and Rosaline forces herself to forget about it too and listen to his account of how the producers are “managing” him, as he overheard one of them say to another one. Apparently, he's still being shielded from the worst of their tactics, but not even “Mister Right” himself is entirely free of the producers' will.

“I mean, they're not outright threatening me,” he explains, “but there's a lot of talk about making good choices and keeping in mind that this show could influence my entire future – and that, if I walk out of it with a bad reputation, that reputation is going to stick.” He makes a face. “So that's a fun prospect.”

This makes Rosaline feel momentarily bad for dragging him into this assignment. What if the producers are right, and Benvolio will forever be “Mister Right”? Or worse, what if, after she blows their cover for the article, he'll forever be the guy who lied to twenty hopeful women who wanted nothing more than to find true love on national television? Because she has a feeling that's exactly how the story would be played if it came out, gleefully turning Benvolio into some sort of monster.

Then again, no one forced him to come here, she reminds herself and stuffs down her burgeoning guilt – this is on him alone.

“So what do they consider “the right choices”?”

“I guess mostly they just want me to make sure to make the most of every date, at least pretend to have some romantic moments with every woman, no matter if I'm attracted to her or not. And I get it, of course – we're here to provide entertainment, wether we feel like it or not. But it is a little weird when that entertainment means pretending to be attracted to up to twenty people at the same time.”

“Well, there are less than twenty contestants left now, that should help.”

“Maybe a little. But then, what if I _do_ fall for someone? Wouldn't it be really dishonest to keep going on dates with the other women, acting like I think something could happen with us?”

Rosaline hadn't thought that far, to be honest – the potential romantic dilemmas awaiting Benvolio weren't very high on her list of things to prepare for before comig here. Still, he seems genuinely worried, and she can't bring herself to sweep aside his concerns.

“ _If_ you fall for someone? Sounds an awful lot like you already have.”

She says it teasingly, and then enjoys his almost bashful reaction a whole lot more than she would have expected when it turns out her teasing wasn't far off the mark.

“I mean, Stella's pretty great...” He drifts off, looks at her nervously, and Rosaline realises that he's waiting for her to say something scathing, to cut down his hopes.

Rosaline does no such thing, and Benvolio seems to decide he can trust her with more information.

“I really like her, you know. She's... I don't know, she could be something real.”

Rosaline isn't sure anyone here is after “something real”, with the exception of Helena perhaps, but she doesn't tell him that – he sounds so hopeful, she can't bring herself to.

“Well... good luck in your courting then.”

Alright, Rosaline decides, that was enough personal stuff. Back to the matter at hand: Their assignment. “Just don't forget all about the article because you're too busy with your little crush, okay?”

Her voice is a little too hard perhaps, but Benvolio doesn't take offense.

“Aye-aye, captain!”

Rosaline cuffs him on the arm for his mocking, but not very forcefully, and Benvolio just grins before he gets to his feet.

“I'd better get back.”

It's only now, with a glance at her alarm clock, that Rosaline realizes how late it is: They've been talking for almost two hours without noticing it! Although, to be fair, there was a lot to talk about; and all of it valuable to her mission.

When she switches off the light, Rosaline feels more motivated than ever, buoyed by the reminder that she isn't actually here just to let the producers toy with her. She's here with her own agenda, not to compete for the prize of being "Mister Right's" pick, which means by all accounts she should be immune to their manipulations. It's something she should keep in mind in the future, and Benvolio's visit reminded her of that.

Which means that maybe she should thank him, for coming here to help with her assignment – but by the time she gets to that thought, Benvolio is already gone.

Oh well, she'll just have to thank him some other time – provided he isn't too busy with _Stella_ , of course. She wonders briefly if this is something she should be worried about, something that might distract him from their task. But so far, that doesn't seem to be the case – and as long as he keeps focusing on the assignment, there's no reason for her to worry about what Benvolio gets up to with the other contestants.

***

 

With now several dates under her belt, a friend among the contestants to vent to, and a sense that she's making progress on her research, Rosaline spends the next days in an unexpectedly good mood, sure that she's prepared for whatever the show and the producers throw at her.

And yet, the next time one of the clipboard-waving devils goes after her, she still walks right into her trap.

Enough time has passed since the body painting date that the episode with it must have aired by now, and Rosaline hasn't had occasion to think about it, or to worry about going on any other dates since Benvolio has picked other contestants lately. Now familiar with the producers' strategy of zeroing in on the contestants not picked for dates, Rosaline has easily deflected all of their attempts to do so with breezy optimism, and she even managed not to get drawn into the spontaneous and very boozy party the other contestants were throwing in the common area the night before. The noise and music drifting to her room still kept her from sleeping all that much, but at least she isn't hungover.

Still, when one of the assistants comes by before the evening's get-together and _doesn't_ try to talk her into changing into a more revealing dress for once, Rosaline is too tired to realize that it's the start of a set-up – even when the producer pulls her over to sit on her bed, smiling conspiratorially.

“I know I'm not supposed to do this but... I'm rooting for you, so I wanted to give you a heads up: People out there feel like you're being too unapproachable, and that our "Mister Right" won't choose you in the end...”

“Unapproachable.”

The girl nods, then, after a moment of hesitation, pulls out her phone.

“Okay, I could get into big trouble for this, so don't tell anyone but... these were the reactions when we posted a clip from your last date to our facebook page.”

She hands her the phone and Rosaline watches the embedded clip of her and Benvolio and the stupid bodypainting. It's a deftly-edited compilation of scenes from the day, starting with the moment she got roped into letting herself be painted on and ending with her verdict on Benvolio's artwork, her “I like it” sounding horribly timid and breathy to her own ears. Apart from the dialogue at the beginning and the end, the scenes are underlaid only with soft music; with plenty of close-ups to underscore the hands-on quality of the date – Benvolio's hand gripping the brush, the stroke of bristles across her skin, Benvolio carefully moving her this way and that to have better access – and at the end, the two of them before the mirror, Benvolio right behind her with his hand on her waist. The video is capped off by a lingering shot of the smile they shared briefly in the mirror, but it must have been dragged out with some slow-motion effect, because surely they didn't stand there smiling at each other for _that_ long.

The atmosphere of the clip is sensual and dreamlike, and so intimate Rosaline feels like a voyeur even though she's watching herself.

Hastily, she scrolls on down, almost dropping the phone with her fumbling, until she's reached the comments section... and then she freezes.

Rosaline does not consider herself a coward, or some kind of delicate flower in need of coddling. But nothing could have prepared her for the kind of vitriol that is being spewed in the comments on that video.

With the kind of cruel callousness boosted by the internet's illusion of safe anonymity, people are casting judgment on everything about her: Her looks, her background, her interactions with her fellow contestants and, of course, with "Mister Right", who seems to be universally beloved. Her every word is being dissected, and the judgment is overwhelmingly harsh: She's “a stuck-up bitch who doesn't deserve his attention”. She cut a bad figure on every group date so far, and no one understands why Benvolio paid so much attention to her, or why he even picked her for the date. Not to mention she's apparently ugly, nagging, and has bad taste in clothes.

And those are the politely-worded comments. The rest is much, _much_ worse.

But before she can fully process everything, the phone is snatched away again, and the producer pulls her to her feet.

“Shooting begins in a few minutes. You should join the others now.”

Rosaline follows her out the door on autopilot, completely shell-shocked, and apparently, the girl notices: She stops to turn to her with an apologetic smile.

“I'm so sorry, I wanted to help but I think I just upset you... Just remember: Be more approachable, and those ugly comments will stop. Just... smile a little more, maybe.”

Dimly, Rosaline is aware that she just got played, manipulated into going into this shoot with her emotions high and her defenses down, but she doesn't have time to pull herself together before she's shoved into her place in line, the lights and cameras go on, and Benvolio steps out of the house. She doesn't catch a single word of what he's saying, but suddenly, they're shuffled over to the gazebo, one of many spots around the house and garden designed for romantic one-on-one encounters, and Benvolio is saying something and she really, _really_ needs to focus but she _can't_.

“Rosaline?” Benvolio repeats when she fails to participate in their conversation in any way, and his face clouds over with worry. “Are you alright?”

He steps closer, takes one of her clammy hands in his, and Rosaline forces herself to snap out of her stupor.

“Sure. It's just...”

She feels her throat constrict, feels a tear slip out the corner of her eye, and Rosaline begins to panic. She cannot let herself be humiliated by bursting into tears on camera, no matter how much the production crew would love it. But her mind is still stuck on those horrible comments, and she has no idea how to un-stick it.

It's Benvolio, of all people, who comes to her rescue.

“I guess you miss your family, huh? Didn't you tell me your sister's birthday was coming up?”

Rosaline nods, recognizing the lifeline he just threw her. Contestants always make a big show of how much they miss their families, so it's easy to believe that the same reason would be behind her sudden tears, and she won't have to unpack her real problems on camera, or try and make up something else on the spot.

“Yeah, that's it. We always make it a point to celebrate our birthdays together. It's just hard not to be able to do that this year.”

She hoped that would be the end of it, but mentioning her sister makes her realize that Livia may have seen that video and those comments too. Just the thought that Livia might read that kind of stuff makes her want to scream and rage, and instead she has to stand in front of a camera and smile.

And Benvolio saves her again: He pulls her close, her head coming to rest against his shoulder, and holds her while she tries to calm her breathing, to fight down the tears.

“Hey, I get it,” he says, loud enough for the cameras to pick up, “I miss my family too.”

To their left, Rosaline watches one of the production assistants give them a thumbs-up. Apparently, they're happy to let Benvolio show his soft side for a little longer, which means Rosaline can snake her arms around his waist and allow herself this small shred of comfort. And she's sure, for all his faults, that Benvolio's compassion is genuine – and that, no matter how they used to snipe at each other, he would never say any of the things the people writing those comments said about her.

In this moment, that's enough.

***

 

She doesn't get a chance to really talk to Benvolio after that encounter, because apparently, between her tears and his chivalrous offer of comfort, the crew have got their daily dose of drama locked down and have no more need of Rosaline. She's sent back to join the other contestants, and has the pleasure of quietly brooding over what she read on that facebook post for the rest of the evening.

As soon as all the roses have been handed out and filming wraps up, Rosaline makes a beeline for her room the second her clip-on microphone is off. She wants nothing more than to talk to Livia in this moment, but since they're not even given the tiny comfort of calling their loved ones, she'll just have to try and sleep simply to avoid the temptation of the well-stocked bar in the communal areas.

But sleep won't come, and by the time someone's knocking on her door some time later, Rosaline is not only still awake but still an emotional mess.

As she suspected, it's Benvolio, come to check on her. Rosaline should probably tell him not to come by so often and risk being caught by any of the crew or the other contestants – she doesn't even want to imagine what they would make of the suggestion that Mister Right has already picked his favorite and is carrying on a secret, off-camera affair with her.

But Benvolio doesn't let her get a word in before he asks, urgently:

“How are you doing? What happened earlier?”

Rosaline doesn't even consider not telling him – he's the only person in here she can fully trust, and she needs to talk to _someone_ or risk going crazy.

“They got to me, okay?”

She's told him all about the production assistants' methods for getting as many shots of crying contestants as possible – keeping them sleep-deprived, drunk, constantly on edge and increasingly desperate for camera time and Mister Right's attention, and then pitting them against each other. He listens without interruption when she tells him about the video and the comments – although she omits to mention how terribly small and ugly and vulnerable they made her feel.

“It's nothing, really. In hindsight, I realize she only wanted to get me riled up before the shoot. I guess I was just chosen to fill their daily tear quota today.”

“Come on, Capulet – I know you didn't nearly lose it over a bunch of mean girls. Those comments must have been bad.”

“Well, some of them were – stuff about how I'm ugly and frigid but somehow also secretly a whore... And then there's your garden variety racist trolls, of course.” She shrugs, tries to play it cool. “I shouldn't have let it get to me.”

Benvolio isn't impressed by her attempt to downplay the situation – she can see that same anger flashing up in his eyes again that she saw the first time he visited her here, when she assumed he was sleeping with the contestants.

“Fuck, Rosaline, I had no idea you were dealing with this crap.”

“How could you? If that little snake hadn't shown the video to me right before we started shooting, I wouldn't have known either. Although I guess we should have seen this coming – what kind of idiot expects to appear on a tv show and not have people judge them?” She tries to smile, but it doesn't really catch on, and Benvolio's face stays grim. “It's no big deal, really. I'll get over it.”

Benvolio doesn't believe her for a second – but he does surprise her, again, by genuinely trying to help her. And again he physically reaches out to her to do it; sitting down on the edge of her bed to take her hand.

“You don't have to go through with this, you know. You can stop at any time. Just tell me you want out, and I won't pick you to continue to the next round. I'll stay and keep gathering information, and you can still write the article, with your name on the byline. It will still be _your_ baby.”

Just this little act of kindness makes her tear up again, and without any cameras nearby, Rosaline allows herself this moment of weakness, too tired to even feel bad about crying in front of Benvolio _again_. She still closes her eyes, because she doesn't want to see if there's pity on his face or if he's getting tired of her emotional outbursts – only for them to snap open again when he cradles her cheek with his hand to wipe away the first tear rolling off her lashes.

“Chin up, Capulet. You and I both know you're better than those horrible producers, and certainly better than people who have nothing better to do than be assholes on the internet. Don't give those losers the power to tear you down.”

She smiles shakily, somehow more touched by his show of support for the fact that it _isn't_ coming from someone she knows cares about her.

“I guess most of them _are_ losers.”

“ _All of them_ are losers!” He puts such loud emphasis on the claim that for a moment, she's afraid someone might hear him. But everything stays quiet, and she can't help but feel touched by his fierceness. “If the production team had half a brain between them, they would have called it a day the moment you arrived, because it's obvious that no one here can hold a candle to you.”

It's a sweet attempt to cheer her up, but now he's just reaching so much that Rosaline can't help but laugh.

“Save your sweet-talk for the cameras.”

Benvolio flashes her a grin. “I've got plenty more, don't you worry.”

He squeezes her hands once more, then gets to his feet.

“You should get some sleep. Will you be alright here?”

“I will.”

She isn't so sure about that, to be honest – but what could he do if she said no, stay for the rest of the night to distract her with more outrageous compliments? That's not an option even if she expected it to help.

Benvolio studies her for a moment, as if deciding if he trusts her judgment, then he nods.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” Rosaline replies, and hopes irrationally that he can hear what she really wants to say but can't quite find the courage to: _Thank you for being here._

But she doubts he heard her unsaid message, and then he's already out the door, as quietly as he came, and Rosaline settles back into bed for a good cry – only to find that somehow, she doesn't feel like crying anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask me about a timeline for this story, because there isn't one. I had this vague idea that the show airs while it's still being filmed, with a slight delay between filming events and airing them, but I have no idea how much time has passed or how long they're staying on the show in general. If I had to guess, I'd say maybe they've been in the house for about 3 weeks now, and will spend about 6 weeks there in total? idk. I hate coming up with timelines. It's the worst part of plotting.
> 
> Oh, and as for the Stella thing? You'll have to trust me when I tell you that I hate love triangles and would never subject anyone to them. It will get resolved. Somehow. (Okay, that sounds ominous but I just meant that I haven't entirely figured it out yet.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just would not stop growing.

Unexpectedly, after the day's nasty surprise and televised tears, Rosaline does not only spend the night without shedding so much as a single tear, but she actually spends it fast asleep, and due to a merciful shooting schedule the next day, she even gets to sleep in until a reasonable hour.

Still she feels rattled; nervous and jumpy whenever a producer approaches her. Hopefully, she'll be able to blend into the background today, crawl into some quiet corner of the garden and wait out the rest of the day. It's a solid plan, she thinks as she lines up with the other contestants outside the mansion - so of course Benvolio ruins it by calling out her name as his choice for the date.

She freezes in place as the consequences of his choice sink in: Getting picked for that date today means more time spent with Benvolio, means more scenes of her and him in the next episode of the show, means more attention – and more of the hate that completely blindsided her yesterday. More ugly comments, threats, insults. And even if she won't see any of it – because technically, she wasn't supposed to see the day before either – she'll know that it's happening, and will spend the next days imagining just what people are saying about her this time around.

But clearly Benvolio doesn't give a damn about any of that, she thinks, probably too busy coming up with new ways to tease and annoy her, and seeing the date as nothing more than an extended opportunity to do just that. It's perhaps an overly negative outlook, but the reminder of yesterday's glimpse of the outside world has caused panic to flare up inside her again, and fear is quickly tipping into anger as she follows him to the limousine that will bring them to their secret destination.

The last few times Rosaline was chosen for a date, the stretch limousine got pretty crowded with a handful of contestants, Benvolio, and an entire camera team in there. But today, with only Benvolio and her clambering into the back, there's a lot more room, especially since there seems to be some sort of hold-up with the camera equipment and the crew is stalling outside. Which suits her just fine: The moment Benvolio has closed the door and is sitting down next to her on the backseat, Rosaline turns on him.

“You just had to pick me for another date, did you? It's not enough that viewers already hate me just for daring to interact with you, now they're going to hate me even more for taking away your attention from their precious faves.”

Benvolio's face falls, and his reply come without the usual swagger and smugness.

“Today's a really fun date. I thought you might like a chance to relax, get away from the mansion and the producers. Well, most of them.”

He sounds so earnest, looking almost disappointed by how badly his idea was received, that now it's Rosaline's turn to pause. He makes it sound so simple, almost enticing, to actually enjoy the date, that she thinks that maybe she overreacted a little bit. After all, didn't he show yesterday that he's on her side? Maybe she has started to get little paranoid, and the date won't be quite the trial she's imagining it as right now.

“No body painting?”

Benvolio shakes his head in response to her suspicious question, trying to look serious even as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“No body painting.”

“What then?”

“How about I don't tell you so you won't have to act surprised, and instead you trust me not to take you anywhere you'll hate?”

“How would you know what I like or hate?”

“I'm making an educated guess.”

“Educated?”

“Alright, I'm just guessing. It's more of a trial and error sort of process.”

“So, what, you'll just drag me on dates until I like one?”

“I wasn't planning to...”, he pretends to be mulling it over, before he breaks into a smile that seems rather foreboding. “But now that you mention it, I might just do that.”

“Please don't.”

Something flickers over his face, briefly dulling his smile, before it's back again.

“I won't... If you promise to try and relax today.”

Rosaline sighs. He is tenacious, she has to give him that – but she can see that his intentions are good. Maybe she can relent... a little.

“I'll try. But I can't guarantee anything."

“Good enough,” he shrugs, leaning back in the plush leather seats of the limousine with a satisfied expression. The car door opens, the camera crew piles in, and they're off – towards a location and date she knows nothing about, but which she agreed to try and enjoy.

***

 

The ride is not as awkward as it could be, thankfully. Rosaline, remembering that she's supposed to be excited and happy about this day, needles Benvolio about their mystery destination for a little while, Benvolio adamantly refuses to tell her, and after a few minutes of this, the crew apparently decide that they've got enough footage of their pointless back-and-forth and stow away their gear, and Rosaline decides she's done her duty, show-wise. The rest of the ride is mostly Benvolio chatting with the crew and Rosaline looking out the window while their producer takes a nap.

Rosaline is briefly tempted to follow her example, then decides against it. Any opportunity to catch some extra sleep is of course very welcome, but with Benvolio and the crew here, cameras within easy reach, she doesn't like the thought of being so vulnerable.

Still, by the time they pull to a stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere, Rosaline is fighting to keep her eyes open, and is more than a little startled when Benvolio turns to her and commands:

“Alright, close your eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You're not supposed to see it yet. And if you don't close your eyes, I'll need to blindfold you, which I guess you'll like even less.”

He's right about that, Rosaline thinks, and resignedly closes her eyes.

The car continues driving, and she realizes they stopped before reaching their actual destination so she wouldn't even catch a glimpse of it. The next time the car stops, her eyes are still firmly closed, and this time, they seem to be stopped for good.

“Now what?”

“Now we get out of the car. I'll help you, don't worry. Just trust me, okay.”

She isn't crazy about stumbling around with her eyes closed, but she does trust Benvolio enough to be sure he won't let her fall and break her neck, and so Rosaline stifles an annoyed sigh and clambers out the car. Benvolio – she assumes – puts a hand on the back of her head to make sure she doesn't bang her head on the door, then takes her hand and drapes it over his arm.

“Let's go. Don't worry, the ground's nice and even here.”

Silly as it is, his commentary actually helps her relax, at the very least assuring her that he's taking his job seriously. Still, she's glad when it turns out to be a short walk, up a gravelled path, inside a building and – slowly – down some stairs until the air turns noticeably cooler.

“Alright, you can open your eyes.”

Rosaline isn't sure what she expected, exactly, but it's not this: When she opens her eyes, she finds herself standing in an actual cave, its low ceiling and rough walls illuminated with amber-coloured wall sconces and tiny lights set into the ceiling. She realises the cave is man-made, corridors hewn into the red and ochre-stone, so she guesses they're not here to go spelunking.

“Where are we?”

From the side, an eerily ageless woman in a white uniform, a kind of fancy type of hospital scrubs, steps towards them. There's some sort of logo embroidered on the collar of her uniform, but before Rosaline can make it out, the woman speaks up.

“You're at the Desert Spirit Spa, a holistic facility that endeavours to heal, nurture and nourish mind, body and soul.”

That sounds like a lot of gibberish to Rosaline, but Benvolio, looking like he tried to stay quiet and could not manage it for a second longer, bursts out:

“We're having a spa day!”

The woman nods, smiling in a beatific way that Rosaline finds slightly unsettling.

“That's right. You'll be treated to our newest and most luxurious treatments, before you get to soak in our healing mineral waters.” She turns to a wicker basket behind her and takes out two thick, fluffy bathrobes and two pairs of hotel slippers, handing one each to Benvolio and to her, and then gestures for them to follow her down another corridor to a set of changing rooms.

When Rosaline emerges from the room in her bathing-suit, fluffy bathrobe and slippers, the woman is in the middle of a speech about the “holistic treatment facility” and its various offers, which Rosaline guesses constitutes the product placement-part of the episode. This seems to be part of the show's business model; setting dates at various locations looking for some publicity and turning the date sequence into a de facto commercial. It's a smart set-up, she has to admit.

“We're open year-round and usually booked about six months in advance,” the woman continues, “but today, you're our only guests, so you'll have plenty of privacy.”

Rosaline smiles politely, then they're ushered on to another underground room, this one equipped with two massage tables set up side by side.

“First off, you will eject all the stress and tension you've brought in with you. None of those have a place inside Desert Spirit Spa,” their guide explains, motioning for them to get on the massage tables.

Rosaline fumbles awkwardly with her bathrobe – she tied the belt a little too hastily before, and now the knot has become so tight she can't get it open. It doesn't help that she's nervous, knowing she's about to not only appear in her bathing-suit (again) but also be filmed in a pretty vulnerable situation, lying half-naked on a table to get a massage from a stranger. Under different circumstances, she'd jump at the offer of getting pampered like this – but knowing how many people out there hate her without even knowing her, the thought of giving them another reason to be jealous and spiteful is making her nervous enough to cause her hands to tremble.

“Need some help?”, Benvolio asks quietly and steps in, his hands reaching out for her belt and stilling hers in their fumbling process. His own hands are steady and thus much more successful with the belt, and soon he's pulling open the knot and letting the robe fall open – and it only occurs to her then how suggestive the scene is, how it will look when the producers include it in the episode: Benvolio standing so close to her in just his swimming trunks, his own bathrobe abandoned with ease, and _literally_ _taking her clothes off._ When she looks up, Benvolio must have noticed it too, because his hands have stilled completely and he's just standing there, looking at her with a bemused expression, calm but with a hint of curiosity to it that makes her face heat up.

She steps backwards hastily, bumping into the massage table behind her.

“Thanks.”

After that, Rosaline can't get on the table quickly enough, clambering on to lie face down and close her eyes even before the massage therapist has finished telling her what she's going to do and what kinds of “healing” oils she'll use. Rosaline couldn't care less. Her heart is still pounding, her body so tense that the massage therapist has to remind her several times to try and relax. And just when she's starting to do so, Benvolio lets out a groan that, to her overactive imagination, sounds positively sinful.

“Sorry,” he mumbles immediately afterwards, “it's just that you're very, very good.”

The massage therapist chuckles, and Rosaline realizes that's who Benvolio was talking to. And he's right – those people definitely know what they're doing. Which, she tells herself, is all the more reason to stop being so uptight and actually enjoy the massage. Who knows when she'll next get such a treat? For a little while at least, she should just press pause on her confused musings on what exactly Benvolio is thinking and why making those little shows of intimacy for the camera comes so easily to him and rattles her so much no matter how often she reminds herself it's all fake.

Now is not the time for brooding, she tells herself sternly.

She manages to stick to that resolve for the rest of the delightfully long massage, and after that they get a pedicure and then a facial treatment with some delicious-smelling mask, and by the time that's done Rosaline is so relaxed she's practically boneless, and glad to be ushered over to a lounge bed large enough for two people to sprawl out on.

Another spa employee in white scrubs hands them each a smoothie, fresh and creamy and delicious, and Rosaline leans back into the fluffy pillows padding the back of the lounger, sips her smoothie, and thinks that all things considered, this is not the worst way to spend a day. Even the camera crew still bustling around them doesn't really bother her much anymore, not when her body is relaxed and pliant and her skin feels amazing and smells subtly and pleasantly like tropical fruit.

“So?” Benvolio asks, lying on his side beside her, head propped up on one elbow as he's looking at her expectantly.

Rosaline knows exactly what he's angling for, but she's not going to make this easy on him.

“So... what?”

“Do you like it here? I picked it out of all the options they showed me, and I have to say I for one am very happy with my choice.”

She almost rolls her eyes at the way he manages to be self-congratulatory even when he's asking her opinion, then tamps down on the impulse. She promised she'd try to enjoy the date, and in all honesty she doesn't have to try very hard. But again, where would be the fun in just admitting that?

“It's not bad,” she replies breezil

“ _Not bad_?” Benvolio looks so incredulous, she has to quickly take a sip of her smoothie to stifle a laugh. “This is the most relaxing place I've ever been to, and you think it's “ _not bad_ ”?” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you're a nightmare to impress.”

The words are innocent, a little joke and certainly nothing compared to what she's had to read about herself online, but they still sting – surprisingly, considering Benvolio's opinion is not something she used to care about very much. But this seems to be turning into a trend, people thinking they can judge her for everything she says or does, and Rosaline is starting to get really, really sick of it.

“A _nightmare_? So just because I don't start fainting and swooning the moment I'm treated to something every idiot with money can book on the internet, I'm an ungrateful bitch?”

Benvolio looks genuinely crushed now, sitting up from his relaxed position as he explains himself.

“Hey, I didn't say... I would never call anyone that. And I didn't _mean_ that, either. I just...”, he raises his hands defensively, trying to signal that he didn't mean to attack her. “I just meant to say, a guy has to get pretty creative to impress you.”

“You know what? That's _bullshit_. No one has to “get creative” or come up with some sort of big gesture to impress me. You know what I find impressive? Someone who listens to me. Who respects me enough to actually give a damn about my opinion. Who lets me figure out my own stuff but supports me once I have. _That_ is impressive. And if wanting that makes me a _nightmare_ , then so be it.”

“I'm sorry, for saying that. I really didn't mean to make it sound so bad. I just meant... you're a challenge, okay? You're not easy to catch up with, you don't let anyone steamroll you or tell you what to do, and you certainly don't pretend to be impressed when you're not.”

Rosaline opens her mouth, ready to tell him what she thinks of his opinion that apparently, she's _supposed_ to pretend to be impressed by him, but Benvolio doesn't let her get a word in.

“And that's a _good_ thing. Because it's honest, and it lets people know exactly where they stand with you.”

She waits for him to continue, add some mocking little twist to his words, but he doesn't – and only then does she consider the possibility that he might actually mean what he's saying: That he considers her attitude not ungrateful, not unladylike or undiplomatic or the many other things she's been called by people like her aunt all her life, but something _good, a_ sign of honesty. It feels like an actual, worthwhile compliment – none of the meaningless things he says for the cameras, the claims that she's “beautiful” and “special” that he can easily repeat to every other contestant here.

It feels like something that might be his _real_ opinion, and with every second that passes without him taking it back, she feels herself wishing more that it could be; that someone could actually think this way about her.

It's ridiculous, she finally tells herself – he probably just ran out of his usual dime-a-dozen lines and had to come up with something new to save their cover. After all, her blowing up like this was more than a little suspicious – she's supposed to be so enamored with him that she'd agree with his every word, and actually _be_ impressed by everything he does, not bite his head off for merely asking if she likes a date.

Which means, Rosaline realizes with cold dread, that she just fucked up, majorly: She just forgot about the show and acted like herself, and that was the very thing she was supposed to be careful not to do.

But maybe it's not too late – maybe she can at least do some damage control. Scooching closer to Benvolio on the lounge island – definitely a more romance-friendly take on the usual deckchair – she smiles apologetically.

“Thank you for saying that – and sorry, for snapping at you.” She takes a deep breath, forces herself to smile. “It really is nice here and the massage was great.”

To his credit, and her endless relief, Benvolio doesn't linger on her apology, doesn't take it as an opportunity to gloat. He only nods enthusiastically.

“God, yes! I feel like all my bones have turned to jelly.”

His smile is warm and open, an invitation to join in and forget about their little spat, nothing more than a fading blemish on an otherwise fairly nice afternoon, and Rosaline gives in to the lure of doing just that.

“Mine too! And whatever they put in those face masks smells a-ma-zing.”

“Yes! What was that? Mango?”

Rosaline shakes her head.

“It wasn't mango. Some sort of tropical fruit, yes... Passion fruit, maybe?”

“We should ask the beautician.”

Rosaline nods her agreement, more invested in the mystery of the secret face mask ingredient than altogether necessary but glad to have something inconspicuous to talk about, when someone interrupts them from the side of the lounger – the camera man she has completely forgotten about.

“Or maybe you guys could move this discussion somewhere else so we can get a few more shots – say, the jacuzzi for example?”

Of course, Rosaline thinks – there hasn't been an opportunity for a full-body bathing-suit shot since the massages, so of course the crew have to make sure to get some more steamy shots to satisfy their voyeuristic audience. But since she acted like a shy little wallflower when Benvolio helped her with the belt, she figures it can't help to be a little more confident from now on.

“That's a great idea. Nothing more relaxing than a soak in the hot tub, right?”

She's not entirely sure why she's overdoing the “enthusiastic contestant”-bit like this, but Rosaline can only assume it is to try and make the crew forget about her earlier outbreak. Maybe they won't even use the footage if she gives them enough other material to work with, she thinks hopefully, and gets straight to work on her new mission of providing that footage.

She heads on over to the hot tub, set into a large block of the same rock the cave is hewn from so that its upper edge sits a few feet above the ground while the tub itself reaches further down in depth. A set of stone steps leads up to the edge, and Rosaline carefully climbs the first of those steps before pausing to look back at Benvolio.

“You coming in?”, she asks with a sultry little smile before dropping her bathrobe – rather dramatically, and hoping the effect will come across as sexy as intended.

The camera is on her, so Rosaline takes her time getting into the tub – and Benvolio certainly takes his sweet time following her, too. But it doesn't matter, really: The moment she's fully immersed in the warm water, bubbles racing along her skin and strong jets pounding her limbs from below and from the sides, Rosaline feels what little tension was still left inside her drain away. By the time Benvolio finally climbs in after her, Rosaline is happily floating along, head resting on the edge of the tub and eyes closed in bliss.

“Comfy?”

She doesn't have to open her eyes to recognize the voice as Benvolio's, the direction of his voice and the splashing sounds indicating he's sitting somewhere to her left.

“Incredibly.” Rolling her shoulders, she groans softly. “I don't even remember the last time I did this, but it's soo good.”

“You don't really relax much, do you?”

Rosaline hesitates. It's a pretty personal question, or at least one that could require a personal answer, and she's already been much too forthcoming today, considering she never intended to reveal too much real stuff about herself on here.

Then again, they have to talk about something.

“I don't really have time to relax. I need to keep my grades up enough to keep my scholarship and still pick up extra waitressing shifts because it's not a full ride. So I have to bust my ass to make it through college, get a good job, and pay off my student loans. And maybe once I've achieved that, I'll relax.”

“So you're just going to put your life on hold until then?”

“I'm not putting anything on hold. Work and school _is_ my life.”

“But what about fun? What about being young, enjoying yourself? When would you have time for that, in between all that work?”

She opens her eyes to find him floating a good arm's length to her left, his arms casually draped over the marble rim of the tub, head tilted slightly back, droplets of water running from his hair down his neck, chest and shoulders before dropping back into the tub. _You'd know all about enjoying yourself, of course_ , she wants to say, bitingly as if that was a bad thing - but looking at him, she's not so sure it is.

“Not very often. But my sister and my little cousin force me to go out with them every once in a while.”

“And are you actually enjoying yourself then, or do you have to be dragged there?”

“I do know how to have fun, you know.”

“Good. I wasn't sure, for a moment.”

He flashes her a cheeky grin and she briefly considers dunking him underwater, then settles for simply sending a small wave across the tub to splash him square in the face.

“You're terrible.”

The good thing about splashing him, it turns out, is that Benvolio is momentarily too busy sputtering and spitting out water to tease her any more.

“And I do enjoy it, if only because it means I get to hang out with my little sister. That's not as much of a given as it used to be.” She can hear her voice turn wistful, which she should have known would happen as soon as she brought up Livia.

“Why's that?”

Another moment of hesitation – they're definitely veering into deeply personal territory here, and the thought of drawing attention to her sister makes Rosaline uneasy. Then again, Livia is far away, spending a hard-earned semester abroad in London, and hopefully safe from any overeager fans trying to sniff her out.

“You know... we're both busy. She started med school last year, so she's always stressed out. Not that she'd let anyone know that, of course.” She smiles, fondly nostalgic. “She's the sweetest person imaginable.”

“Were you close growing up?”

“Very. And those last few years...” Now she really is getting too personal – her parents' death is not going to be laid out and discussed on tv. She swallows, forces herself to smile. “Yes, we're close.”

Then it occurs to her that this is the perfect opportunity to put a lid on any speculation that might arise when people watch the scene of her nearly breaking into tears yesterday, and Rosaline seizes the opporunity immediately.

“Which is why I was so down yesterday – I really miss her.”

“I get it. It may not be the same as you and your sister, but my little cousin and I are pretty close – we grew up together, so he's a bit like a little brother to me. It's weird not having seen or heard of him in so long.” His melancholy tone brightens a little, infused with sudden laughter. “Of course, he's probably having the time of his life now that he's free of me trying to chaperone and mother-hen him all the time.”

“Is that what you do?” She can't really imagine it – Benvolio, looking out for a younger quasi-sibling? Being the stern, responsible one? The thought makes her giggle. “So what does he have to put up with from you – lectures? Getting grounded?”

“That and much worse, to hear him talk.” Benvolio smiles, and Rosaline suddenly can't bring herself to look away. It might be a trick of the light, the orange glow playing along the smooth desert hues of the stone surrounding them, but he looks so warm, so deeply caring as he talks about his cousin, that she finds it hard to reconcile with her idea of him as selfish and irresponsible.

“But hey, someone has to watch out for him and M... my other friends.”

He stumbles a little at the end, and Rosaline realizes what just happened: He almost mentioned Mercutio, in a way that would suggest she knows the person he's talking about and that... would have been bad.

Maybe it's time to steer the topic away from anyone in Verona, make sure they don't have another opportunity to accidentally reveal their pre-show connection.

“Well, it honours you that you feel responsible for them.”

She tries a smile herself, a real one this time and not the one she's practised for the show, and Benvolio's smile deepens in return.

“Perfect! Intimate conversations in the hot tub – what more could anyone want from a date?”

The sudden exclamation from the side of the pool, shrill and jarring in contrast to their soft conversation, startles Rosaline so much that her arms slip off the edge of the pool, and her jaw painfully crashes into the stone.

“Ow!”

Benvolio reacts instantly, floating closer and carefully taking the sides of her face in his hands to tilt back her head and check her jaw.

“It's not bleeding.” He turns her head a little, studying her carefully. “Does it hurt badly? Did you bite your tongue?”

Rosaline tries to shake her head, but finds it awkward and difficult with Benvolio's hands holding her in place.

“No.”

“That's good. Can you still move your jaw, open your mouth? Try it, carefully.”

Rosaline does, slowly opening her jaw just a little and then a little wider, then trying a side-by-side motion and even a circular one. She accomplishes it all easily, and the stinging pain is already starting to dull into a low throb.

“It's alright, I don't think anything happened. It'll bruise a little, nothing more.”

“Still, maybe we should get you to a doctor, have you checked out...”

“Benvolio, I'm still _talking_. I don't think I would be able to do that if my jaw was broken. I'm perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Despite his obvious lingering doubt, he lets go of her face – which is good because she was beginning to feel a little awkward – only to grasp onto her shoulders now, his hands warm where her damp skin is cooling off in the underground air.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

He looks relieved, more than seems altogether warranted given how perfectly non-serious the situation is, then turns towards the crew by the edge of the pool. The producer is looking a little sheepish, but the camera and sound guys are completely unfazed, camera and microphone still steadily pointed at her and Benvolio.

Benvolio's face darkens, his hands tightening briefly on her shoulders.

“You're _filming_ this? What if it had been something serious? Would you have called 911, or would you have skipped that to keep filming as well?”

“Of course we would have called 911,” the producer says, trying to placate him. “But you heard Rosaline, she's perfectly fine. No need to make a fuss.”

For once, Rosaline agrees with the producer.

“Exactly. Let's just wrap this up, okay?”

“Oh, but the date's not over.”

“It's not?” Every part of her has been massaged and lathered in soothing substances and soaked in mineral water. What else could they possibly do to her now?

“Well, there's still dinner. Aren't you hungry?” He pauses, thinking. “That is, if you can eat? Should we order something that doesn't require chewing, soup or something?”

She can see now why his cousin accuses him of being a mother-hen, Rosaline thinks wryly, half exasperated, half touched by his concern.

“I can eat,” Rosaline replies, and turns once again to the ladder to get out of the hot tub. “And if you think I'm going to eat _soup_ at a place that no doubt employs a gourmet chef, you're insane.”

Benvolio chuckles and starts his way up the ladder after her.

“Alright, no soup.”

And true to his word, the four-course menu does not contain soup – but Rosaline barely manages to pay attention to the food anyway, because the real attraction is the view.

After spending the afternoon in the cave-like spa, being led out onto the terrace after changing back into her clothes is disorienting for a moment. The table they're led to is set up at the very edge of the terrace, which juts out over the steep hillside and opens up a view that makes her breath catch: The whole valley is laid out before them, already dipped in twilight while up here, the sun still reaches them between gaps in the mountain range ahead, now tinted pink and gold with the setting sun. And above the mountains, the sky stretches far and wide, dyed orange and pink, purple and indigo with the sunset.

Rosaline is so stunned, Benvolio has to lightly tap her arm to get her attention, gesturing to the chair he pulled out for her.

“This place is incredible,” she blurts out the moment Benvolio has sat down across from her, and impulsively, she reaches out to squeeze his hand where it rests on the table. “Thank you for taking me here.”

Benvolio seems taken aback for a moment, then his face lights up.

But before he can reply anything, the restaurant's chef himself comes up to their table to begin explaining their meal – another part of the sales pitch – and the first course is brought out soon after.

The dinner itself, while delicious, is a bit of a tedious affair, with the cameraman shouting at them to stop eating every few minutes because he needs to reposition his tripod and redo the same shot from a different angle, or because he has a good shot and doesn't want them to ruin it by chewing. After they've made it through two courses this way, Rosaline is about to ask why the hell they would want to shoot two people having dinner without actually having them eat, but Benvolio pats her hand calmingly, and she swallows down her protest and continues with their sham dinner.

After all, what little food they manage to eat is delicious, and whenever she gets too annoyed with the camera crew, she only needs to look out past the edge of the terrace, where the valley is now in complete darkness save for the lights of the city nestled down below, and the mountains are nothing more than jagged silhouettes looming in the distance.

Between the camera-related interruptions and the chef returning to explain every single course – and throw in some casual brag about the quality of the restaurant every time he does – it's difficult to get a conversation going. Then again, they've done plenty of talking throughout the day, and Rosaline can feel herself getting more and more tired from the combined effects of the massage and hot tub soak, the rich food and the red wine served with it.

When the cameraman finally puts away his camera and the producer declares that they're done, Rosaline is actually relieved: As nice as this day was, right now, she wants nothing more than to get to bed.

Since they spent the whole day here, the rented limousine isn't waiting for them anymore when they get out, replaced instead by a much smaller car, and Rosaline, Benvolio and the producer all squeeze into the back together. Rosaline ends up in the middle, which makes things potentially awkward when her eyes start to droop no more than a few minutes into the ride and she begins to tiredly sway side-to-side. Faced with the choice of leaning into Benvolio who she has become a lot better at tolerating and the producer whom she dislikes on principle, Rosaline resigns herself to her fate and leans against Benvolio's shoulder, hoping he won't make a big deal of it.

But Benvolio says nothing – he only sits up straighter in his seat so her head rests more comfortably on his shoulder, and Rosaline is asleep within seconds.

***

 

The relaxing spa date and romantic sunset dinner Rosaline and Benvolio enjoyed is received equally well when it makes an appearance on screen at the _Gazette_ writer's room at Verona University.

“Oh, what a great date!”, Juliet sums up after the two moles have returned from their spa day. “I'm glad Rosaline got a chance to relax – she deserved it after whatever the hell happened last episode.”

Rosaline tearing up for no discernible reason and having to be comforted, _on camera_ , by a very concerned-looking Benvolio sent “Team True Love” and the rest of the Gazette staff into quite the uproar. Some suspected it was a trick, planned by the two of them to give the appearance that they were growing closer, but Juliet took one look at the scene and knew that it was real.

“Rosaline would not play something like this so convincingly. She's not acting, something really is wrong.”

Mercutio nodded, frowning. “I know. Benvolio looked completely blindsided. This was not planned.”

The event had them all worried, and even caused an angry phone call from Rosaline's sister, currently studying abroad in London, and demanding an explanation from her cousin as to what the hell was going on – and why she let Rosaline put herself in such a situation.

“ _Let_ her do it? Have you _met_ your sister? There's no _letting_ her do anything. She had this idea, she would have gone through with it no matter what I said.”

Livia admitted, grudingly, that that was probably true, and stopped shouting at her cousin then. But Juliet has since been living in fear of another incident indicating that Rosaline isn't doing so well in the mansion, and seeing her relax and get pampered for an entire day is definitely reassuring.

In fact, it seems like the day has an astonishingly relaxing effect on Rosaline, who is shown getting a massage and some kind of tropical fruit facial, lounging around drinking smoothies and even inviting Benvolio to join her in the hot tub with unexpected, seductive nonchalance. (Which, as a reaction shot of Benvolio's face reveals, has more of an effect than Rosaline perhaps intended.) Rosaline even seems at ease enough to open up about her family and reveal little bits about herself, to Juliet's astonishment.

There is a moment of drama when Rosaline slips and hits her chin on the edge of the hot tub, which looks painful but ultimately harmless, and seems to be blown up for dramatic effect by the ominous editing and breathless narration. In the end, the scene seems to be so clearly intended to give Benvolio another opportunity to look good, gently checking if Rosaline is injured and generally appearing caring and concerned for her, that some among the viewers even suspect, again, that it was staged.

Staged or not, Rosaline recovers from the incident and gets to enjoy a gourmet dinner afterwards, and by the time the credits roll, there has been no repeat of last episode's meltdown. Juliet sighs in relief.

“I think for now I'm safe from Livia's wrath.”

Mercutio, who got to listen to the entire rant because Livia skyped while they were writing up their notes on the episode, nods somberly.

“Yes, we wouldn't want a repeat of _that_. Here I thought Rosaline was the scary Capulet when all along, she had a sister who's just as formidable.”

“Rosaline isn't _scary_.”

“Unless your name is Benvolio Montague - she was pretty harsh with him before they left to go on the show.”

Juliet cannot let that accusation stand without defending her cousin. “Because he went out of his way to tease her!”

“That was harmless – just pulling her pigtails.”

“Wait, _that's_ what it was? He _liked_ her?”

“I can't say for sure, he never let anything slip. But it sure as hell seemed that way to me.”

That is certainly interesting information, Juliet finds – but still, she can't let the matter go without pointing one thing out.

“Be that as it may, there _are_ more mature ways to let someone know you like them than pulling their pigtails, no matter how metaphorically.”

“Obviously. And now he has a whole bunch of spectacular dates to take her on. Maybe she'll be impressed at some point.”

“ _Rosaline_? Impressed by a bunch of romantic gestures? I don't think so.” And she really doesn't – but what Juliet has noticed is that Rosaline seems a little more at ease around her partner for their undercover mission, a little more mellow. It's still a far cry from her being _impressed_ by anything Benvolio does, however. “He'll have to come up with something more than that, if he really wants to win her over. And we don't even know if that's what he actually wants.”

“True. We don't know that yet. And I'm not sure he knows it himself.”

Mercutio, Juliet has found, has a penchant for making these kinds of statements, vague and mysterious and almost prophetic in the way he voices them, and they never fail to make her feel like he knows something she doesn't. But then again, Mercutio also has a distinct flair for the dramatic, so Juliet doesn't give too much weight to his little predictions.

For now, the most important thing is that Rosaline got to relax and enjoy herself, and no matter what the show might have edited out, Juliet is sure that she did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, at this point neither Juliet nor I know what exactly Mercutio knows, thinks, or wants, so let's all just agree that he's a bit of a mystery. A Puck-ish trickster spirit in true Shakespearean fashion. Oh, and since the dates are of course edited, Rosaline's little rant about being expected to be impressed was cut from the episode. The producers have no patience for all her opinions.  
> Also, I still have no idea how the behind-the-scenes-plot and the aired episode are connected. I set out planning to make it three days of filming for one episode, which means one episode would contain several days. I guess for this chapter that means that the night before the spa date was the cut-off date, so Rosaline's unpleasant encounter with online bullying last chapter had already aired for three days before Juliet and Mercutio watch the spa date. I have no idea if this makes sense, but that's just how it is now.  
> Did I mention I hate timelines?
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and if anyone wants a reference for the view during their dinner, my inspiration was this: https://tinyurl.com/y85waxkw


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to be cocky, but this is a good one.

Rosaline's relaxed state holds up all throughout the next day, helped by the fact that Benvolio takes some other contestant on the next date and Rosaline has once again time to hang out with Helena in the garden of the mansion.

“So, things seem to be going well with you and Benvolio...” Helena starts, lazily stretching out her leg to push the porch swing they're both sitting on.

“I guess,” Rosaline confirms, because what else can she do? Except, it occurs to her, divert Helena's attention away from the state of her and Benvolio's relationship: “But the same thing could be said about you – after all, you're still here too.”

Helena nods, slowly – but when she replies, she doesn't sound as pleased as Rosaline would have expected her to.

“Yeah, I'm still here.” There's a pause, and Rosaline feels like there's something happening here but she can't for the life of her pinpoint what it is.

Luckily, Helena continues.

“It's just... I'm not sure I should be.”

Rosaline sits up a little straighter, turning her head to look at her friend as she tries to figure out where this is going.

“Benvolio's hot, right?”

Well, that is _not_ where she thought this would be going, Rosaline thinks, and remembers almost too late that she's supposed to agree with that statement.

She nods hastily.

“And yet, I don't think I feel attracted to him. Like, _at all_.”

This is definitely an odd conversation.

“You know, people are into different things...”

Helena waves her hand impatiently. “I know. But shouldn't I, I don't know, find him at least a little bit cute, even if he's not my usual type?”

Rosaline isn't sure what to say to that. Is she expected to convince Helena of Benvolio's qualities? Because she's definitely the wrong person for _that_ job.

Although... If she _really_ wracked her brain, she could possibly come up with some examples of him being passably cute – his little smile when she told him she liked his art, maybe, or the way he looked sitting next to her in the hot tub, arms stretched out over the marble rim and hair falling into his eyes in a way that forced him to peer at her from under his lashes...

But of course, those are _her_ memories, and won't be much help to Helena.

“Well, what is your usual type?”

“I don't know.” Now Helena sounds genuinely distraught, and Rosaline casts a careful look around. There's something serious going on with her friend, and Rosaline will be damned if she lets the producers make camera fodder of whatever it is.

“Even so, just because the producers keep telling us what a great catch Benvolio is, it doesn't mean everyone needs to be going crazy over him. He's just a guy.”

“Maybe. But he's sweet and charming and attractive and I feel like if I could just get over myself, I could be happy with someone like him.” Helena sighs heavily. “You know, get all the things everyone is waiting for me to get – wedding, house, kids... But instead, I only ever...-” she cuts herself off, looking around just like Rosaline did before, with a spooked expression.

“You only ever... what?”, Rosaline asks carefully, feeling a little guilty about her probing but hoping that maybe it will help Helena come out with what's really bothering her.

But Helena only shrugs, and though her face remains friendly, Rosaline can tell that the other woman is retreating, once more guarding whatever secret was about to slip through. And unlike some people, Rosaline isn't in the business of trying to force out her fellow contestants' secrets.

“Don't beat yourself up about it. You said it yourself – you can't force someone to fall in love with you. And you can't force yourself to fall in love with someone either.”

Helena's smile is still a little dimmer than usual, a little more uncertain. But she reaches out and squeezes Rosaline's hand.

“Thank you. I mean, I should be annoyed to have my own words preached back at me, but I appreciate the sentiment. And you're right: Whatever happens, happens.”

There's still a hint of something melancholy lingering around her friend, but it fades once the subject changes, and soon it's time for another round of shooting, and Rosaline almost forgets about the conversation, letting it fade to the back of her mind for now.

*******

 

Over the next days, Rosaline doesn't have the time to focus much on Helena and try to help her with whatever is bothering her friend, because the producers are once again zero-ing in on her.

With more than half the contestants eliminated already, Rosaline is now considered one of an elite circle of potential picks for Mister Right, and apparently, that means there are rising expectations placed on her.

“You know,” one of the producers – her least favourite one – says casually as she's cornered Rosaline in the guarden, “you and Benvolio have been spending a lot of time together lately. Maybe it's time to take your relationship to the next level.”

“The next level?”

“You know, there's _clearly_ a spark. Maybe you should try and turn that spark into something more.”

It takes her a moment, then Rosaline catches on what exactly the producer is suggesting.

“You think I should... be more forward?”

The producer nods eagerly.

“Why not? He clearly likes you – but he could be _crazy_ about you, if you made him.”

Rosaline forces herself not to pull a face at the idea of _making_ someone have feelings for her. Feigning innocence, she asks:

“But how do I do that? I'm not a very... sexually aggressive person.”

The producer laughs.

“No need to make it sound so scary! You don't have to jump him, after all – just show him you're ready for more, and let him do the rest. Who knows...”, she smiles conspiratorially, “it may even lead to a night at the Romance Suite.”

Again Rosaline has to be careful not to let her face show what she thinks of that suggestion. The “Romance Suite” is a special event that comes up towards the end of each season of Mister Right: One night he gets to spend in a luxurious hotel suite with one of the contestants, without any cameras around. Of course, the whole point of it is to then speculate endlessly about what _exactly_ happened between Mister Right and the contestant chosen for this special honour, and in her marathon sessions of the show, Rosaline has found it to be one of the most distasteful things about it.

There's no way she's going to the “Romance Suite” with Benvolio Montague – but of course, that's what she's _supposed_ to want.

She forces herself to smile vacuously.

"That would be something, wouldn't it? But...”, she adds, still playing at the intimidated little wallflower, “I don't know, I'm a little scared to be showing affection with all the cameras around. Isn't that supposed to be, you know, an intimate matter?”

Another laugh, slightly condescending.

“I mean, that depends on how far you're planning to go – but surely a little kiss can't hurt? And if you're that embarrassed about it...” she leans closer, lowers her voice, “then maybe I can make a deal with the camera crew to cut away or blur you out, give you some privacy...”

Rosaline is sure there will be no such deal, but she nods anyway, smiles gratefully.

"That would help, I guess.”

“There you go! Now up and at him! I mean, what man has ever said No to a beautiful woman throwing herself at him?”

She chuckles, looks at Rosaline as if waiting for her to agree, and Rosaline joins in even if she feels sickened by the statement, and the way of thinking behind it. So not even men have the choice of saying No here, because the women sent after them are attractive? That's not much better than the way things are presented to Benvolio, the constant urging to get the contestants to be intimate when they're drunk off their heads. How did he call that strategy? Rape-y bullshit, that's what he said, and Rosaline has to agree: There's a lot of rape-y bullshit going on around here.

***

 

Rosaline spends the afternoon stewing in anger at the production crew, wondering if all the contestants have been given the same speech as her, the same encouragement to be more aggressive and just assume Benvolio will like it. And who knows – maybe he really doesn't mind. Maybe he is exactly the kind of guy she first took him for, ecstatic at the prospect of having a bunch of women throw themselves at him.

In any case, that's not what she should be focusing on here: What she should be worried about is the fact that the producer with her supposedly well-meaning advice to throw herself at Benvolio and just _assume_ he'll be into it was not the last one to bring up the topic: Just before the cocktail party, another producer comes in to once again criticize her choice of clothing and talk her into a much more revealing outfit, and again, that well-meaning advice is repeated: _Just go for it. Be more open, more aggressive. He'll be into it, don't worry – he's just a guy, after all._

The same spiel is repeated a third time the next day when Benvolio takes someone else out on a date, this time with an extra dose of guilt, a reminder that Benvolio would have surely picked her for the date if only she had been more intimate with him before, and once again in the form of a pep talk and an even more outrageous dress for the next cocktail party. By the time shooting wraps up for the day, Rosaline has made a decision: Something needs to be done.

Because the thing is, if the producers have _all_ zeroed in on this one aspect of her supposed relationship with “Mister Right”, she can only ignore their “advice” for so long before it will start to look like she's doing it on purpose, refusing to so much as kiss a man she's supposed to be falling in love with. And looking suspicious is the last thing she wants – so Rosaline grits her teeth at the thought of having to ask Benvolio of all people for help with this, waits until the house goes quiet, and then sneaks into his room for once.

Benvolio is surprised and a little confused by her visit - especially since it takes her some time to reveal the real reason she came. But after some chit-chat about the last few days of shooting, she finally gathers her courage and comes out with it:

“The producers are pressuring me to up my game.”

“Up your game how?” He smiles wryly. “Come on, you smiled at me _twice_ today. What else can they _possibly_ expect?”

“Very funny.” Her voice suggests it's anything but, and Benvolio grins – but only until she continues, and it becomes clear she's not finding the situation as funny as he seems to. “They want me to... I don't know, kiss you or something, I guess.”

She can actually feel her face heat up at the mention of _kissing_ him, and somehow the fact that she's so embarrassed just talking about doing so makes it even more humiliating that she may have to actually _do_ it.

She fully expects him to make fun of her for being so uptight – after all, what's one little kiss to a guy who's enthusiastically tongued his way through the contestants these past days?

But to her complete shock, Benvolkio doesn't grin, or wink, or make a stupid joke.

“Okay, setting aside the fact that you apparently find me completely repulsive,” this actually makes her want to protest, if only because not even he deserves to be made to feel _that_ bad about himself, but he doesn't let her get a word in, “what can I do to help?”

Rosaline doesn't have an answer ready. She didn't come here with a concrete plan – she just wanted to talk to him, see what he thinks of the situation. But even without suggestions from her, Benvolio is already starting to throw out ideas.

“I guess you could just refuse to do it – they can't _make_ you do anything you're not comfortable with...”

His tone indicates that he doesn't really believe this to be a realistic option, which, oddly, makes her more certain that maybe he _can_ help her. At the very least, it must mean he understands now just how the producers run things around here.

“But if you think it would be easier to just give them _something_ , I'm okay with that. I'll go along with whatever you want to do. Or we could make rules, if you like – what kinds of things you'd be okay with and where you'd see your limits. That way, I can sneak in some spontaneous little displays of affection without crossing any lines. You wouldn't have to do all the work, and the producers will be happy.”

That's... actually not a bad plan at all, and being a bit of a control freak by nature, the thought of making clear rules appeals to her. Still, even with everything planned out beforehand, there's no getting around the fact that she's going to have to kiss her research partner, at some point, and she's not sure how to feel about that.

“Or, if you want, we could always practice.”

She's already nodding her agreement, always a fan of being well-prepared for difficult situations, when the meaning of his words really hits her.

“Practice... _kissing_?!”

Benvolio nods, perfectly unfazed.

“Whatever you need to do to make the producers happy. Although I should warn you,” he flashes that infuriating grin of his, “I don't put out before the third date.”

“Technically, we've already been on more than three dates.” It slips out before she can stop it, just because she wants them to keep their facts straight, and Benvolio's eyebrows shoot up at the same moment she realises what that sounded like. “I don't mean.... Nevermind.”

And then, with the kind of unflinching resolve that has often helped her in life, and the impulsiveness that has brought her here in the first place, she makes a decision.

“Alright, let's practice.”

Before she can overthink it, Rosaline gathers up all her courage, swings herself up on the bed, and straddles his lap, ready to get this over with. But when she moves in to kiss him, Benvolio leans back, startled.

“Whoa, slow down! We're supposed to give them romance, not _Girls Gone Wild_.”

Face burning, Rosaline scrambles to get off of him again, mortified to have misjudged the situation that badly – only to be stopped by his hands on her hips, holding her in place.

“Hey, I'm not saying I mind. Just... let's take it slow, okay?”

"Slow"  _does_ sound good, even if she still thinks they should just stop talking and get this over with. But clearly, Benvolio doesn't feel the same way.

He leans closer, letting his eyes roam over her face without actually touching her for a moment before he brings up his hand to cup her cheek.

She sucks in a startled breath, and he chuckles.

“Yeah, we definitely need to practice.”

But if she thought that means he'll finally get started on that practice, Rosaline was wrong: Benvolio does nothing more than let his thumb brush along her cheek, a gesture that is somehow both an echo of the night he did the same thing to wipe off her tears, and a very different kind of thing at the same time.

“Relax, Capulet. Nothing you're not comfortable with, okay?”

His palm drifts slowly along her face and down to the side of her neck, where his thumb continues its soothing motion – although this time, the effect it has on her is anything _but_ soothing. She can feel her pulse speed up under the pad of his thumb, and wonders if he can feel it too.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” It comes out a little too harsh perhaps, but that's only because it occurred to her that he thinks her tension comes from not trusting him to respect her boundaries when that... is not the issue at all.

"So impatient,” he teases – but he's close enough already that she can feel the hum of it along her lips, and then next thing she knows he finally _is_ kissing her, slow and careful as promised, and lingering as if he's waiting for her to catch up.

_Slow_ is definitely good – because it allows her to get used to this situation, not because it means she can feel every little drag of his lips along hers, every shift of his body under her own. She's suddenly hyper-aware of everything he does – the tiny circles his thumb draws into her waist, noticeable even through the fabric of her shirt; the soothing motion of his other hand up and down her arm; the way his kiss gradually turns firmer, more deliberate – that she somehow completely forgets about what she's doing herself.

All she knows is that at some point, she kisses him back, and never one to be outdone, bravely lets the tip of her tongue trace his upper lip. She's half-waiting for him to crack another joke about how impatient she's being, but instead, Benvolio circles both arms around her waist and pulls her closer against him, and something just... snaps inside of her.

She's been so careful, so focused on staying in control, on not letting her guard down and her true feelings and opinions out, and she's _tired_ of it. For just this one surreal moment, in the relative safety of Benvolio's darkened bedroom, she wants to let go and stop thinking – so she does, hands clawing at his shoulders and teeth knocking into his and hips rolling against him in a rhythm that turns more demanding with every second and even more so when he falls in with her rhythm, and it feels _so_ _good_ , liberating and exciting and like something that she could maybe keep doing for a long time...-

And Benvolio pulls away with a gasp, his hands digging into her hips to still their movements.

“Rosaline...” She's still dazed, but she forces her eyes to focus on something and that something turns out to be his Adam's apple, bobbing when he swallows hard. “I think that's enough.”

Rosaline can only stare at him and wait for her ability to speak, or even to form coherent thoughts, to return again.

“I mean, that should definitely cover enough displays of affection to get the producers off your back.”

Right. The producers.

She nods dumbly, briefly distracted by the fact that even in the dim light, she can see that his cheeks are flushed and his lips look puffy, and she wonders how he could get this wrecked in such a short time. Or _was_ it a short time? How long has she even _been_ here?

Long enough that it's time for her to return to her room, she decides, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that screams “ _Coward_!”.

“You're right. That should be more than enough. I'll get back to my room then, make sure I don't get caught.”

She waits for the inevitable quip or joke from him, something outrageous and annoying and perfect to make the world go back to normal again – but he remains quiet, watching without comment as she gets up and walks to the door, opens it carefully and peers out to check if the coast is clear.

She has almost slipped out when she hears it:

“Capulet?” And then, as she pauses and turns back towards him, an unexpected question: “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason.”

She's pretty sure there _is_ a reason and that it would be in her own best interest to stay and find out – but his voice is still rough in a way it wasn't, _before_ , and it _does_ something to her, and she just wants to get away from here, now.

“Okay. Goodnight then.”

She barely hears his reply of “Goodnight” before she's off fleeing down the hallway.

But the night's adventures are not over yet.

 


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as she's made sure the coast is clear, Rosaline races away from Benvolio's room and back to her own, as if by leaving behind his room she could abandon her racing thoughts as well. Right now, they've not brought themselves into formation to torment her just yet, too agitated to produce more than scraps: A reproachful “what were you thinking?” here, an isolated scrap of memory to remind her what exactly she just did there – straddling Benvolio's lap, pressing herself against him, opening her lips under his to meet his tongue, to push back and make it clear she won't leave the reins to him here.

None of the images are unpleasant by themselves, none are things she didn't want – and yet, right now, they chase her down the corridors like a madwoman. She makes it back to her room in record time, only to be stopped in her tracks when the door next to hers opens. And before she can either hurry back down the corridor to hide or throw herself forward into her room, someone emerges from the room next to her, where Helena has just lost her last roommate and is now sleeping alone.

Except this evening, it seems she was not so alone after all: Because the woman emerging from the room is not Helena herself but one of the producers, a petite, dark-haired woman named Isabella. Rosaline hasn't had much to do with Isabella so far, so she guesses the producers have their assigned contestants to "manage", but she remembers Helena saying that she considered Isabella one of the nicer producers.

This little tidbit leaves Rosaline utterly confused now, because her first instinct at the sight of a producer leaving a contestant's room this late is to wonder what new cruelty the producers have come up with now.

Her confusion only heightens when Isabella turns once more at the door to smile back at the person out of view inside the room, presumably Helena.

"Good night," she says, soft and with a hint of longing.

Rosaline has the strong sense that she's almost figured out what's happening - and then Helena steps out of her room to reply with a "Good night" of her own, just as soft… and to press a lingering kiss to the other woman's lips.

That, Rosaline thinks, was the missing puzzle piece to understanding what's going on.

And just as she's realised this, Helena steps back and sees Rosaline standing slack-jawed in the middle of the corridor, witness to a scene that was definitely supposed to be private - and that, she understands now, holds just as much disruptive power than her own illicit meeting this evening, if not more.

"Rosaline...", Helena begins, and Rosaline understands that the expression on her face is fear - an expression, she decides quickly, which she hates seeing on the face of someone she considers a friend.

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Really," Isabella asks, in a tone that makes it clear she doesn't believe her. "Not even when a gossip mag offers you ten grand for a tell-all? Or a TV station for an interview? Or when you decide to start a YouTube-channel and need the views to monetize it?"

Helena gasps.

"Rosaline wouldn't do that. That's not the kind of person she is."

"And if I was, you'd just be giving me ideas," Rosaline points out, which is not helpful at all but the only thing she can think of at the moment.

"Well," Isabella replies, and the slight straightening of her spine, the tightening of her jaw tells Rosaline that this is not a woman she wants to make an enemy of, "if you decide to follow up on any of those ideas, just know that we have a folder full of strategies to make your life hell."

"Honestly, Izzie, stop it. Just go to bed, okay? I'll talk to Rosaline."

Isabella seems hesitant, and Helena reaches out to take her hand.

"You shouldn't be seen here."

Isabella nods, clearly reluctant, but walks off towards the production crew's quarters, and Helena looks after her for another moment before turning to Rosaline.

"Now, I'm sure you have questions..."

Oh, _that_ she does… but privacy is their most rare and precious good here, and Rosaline is not going to try and take that from someone she considers a friend.

"It's none of my business. You don't owe me any answers."

Helena nods, smiling shakily. But when Rosaline turns towards her room, decididing it's best that they don't linger in the hallway where someone could come across them and ask what they're doing, Helena reaches out to lightly take hold of her arm.

“I know, and I'm glad. But I could really use someone to talk to right now.” 

Rosaline nods and Helena starts pulling her into her bedroom, leaning close the moment she's closed the door behind them.

“Actually, I've kind of been dying to talk about it...”

“I can imagine that,” Rosaline says, following Helena's example and sitting crosslegged on one of the unused beds. 

“So, how did this happen?” 

Helena smiles bashfully, shrugs.

“I don't even know, really. We got close, and it just sort of... happened.” 

“That's why you were finding it so difficult to flirt with Benvolio.”

“Yes. I really like him, as a person, but I just... It's like we said the other day: Whatever happens, happens – and what happened was Isabella.” 

Another smile, a little embarrassed, a little nervous, but so unquestionably happy that Rosaline can only feel happy for her friend as well.

“That's great!”

Again, Rosaline doesn't want to push too fast, so she waits for Helena to speak on her own – and Helena does.

“I'd never even kissed a woman before her – I'd thought about it, but... well, my family's pretty conservative. It wasn't an option to even consider growing up. I've had crushes, but I didn't realise at the time that's what they were. I just always thought it was just a question of finding the right guy. That's actually why I came here – sort of as a last resort. I figured if the most sought-after man on television wouldn't do it for me, I'd just have to give up entirely.” 

Rosaline can't help but chuckle at the story – and at the thought of Benvolio's face if he could hear someone refer to him as their “last resort”.

“So, what happens now? Are you leaving the show?” 

Oddly, this makes the smile on Helena's face vanish.

“I wanted to, but the showrunners won't let me quit, even after I told them what happened.”

Instantly, Rosaline's heart sinks. Helena apparently thought that telling the showrunners about her situation would prompt them to be sympathetic – but Rosaline suspects telling them anything personal is never a good idea, and that suspicion is immediately confirmed.

“They're saying they will make it public why I left. And that's just not something I'm ready for.”

“They'll _what_?” 

She shouldn't be surprised by anything the producers and showrunners decide to do at this point – but still, Rosaline finds herself shocked by their threat.

“I'm guessing the only way they'd profit off of me leaving is if they can make some big scandalous reveal out of it...”

“Those _assholes_! What does Isabella say?” 

“She says she has no doubt they'll go through with it.” 

“What about her, did they threaten her too?” 

“I didn't tell them about her. I just said that I did some thinking and came to some realisations. I don't want to drag her into this, cause her to lose her job even.” 

“So, what's the plan – you're going to just ride out the rest of the show?”

“I don't think I have another option.” Helena sighs. “And I guess I could handle it, if it wasn't so unfair to Benvolio.”

Rosaline almost asks what any of this has to do with Benvolio, until she remembers that, as far as Helena knows, Benvolio really is here to find love. But the thought is quickly pushed aside by another.

“Benvolio!”, Rosaline exclaims – because Benvolio, it turns out, could be the solution to Helena's problem. “You should talk to him. Just tell him what's going on.”

“I know,” Helena says, still downtrodden. “He deserves to be told the truth – but that would mean one more person knowing about it.” 

“Yes – the one person who can help you! Don't you see? Benvolio can simply eliminate you at the next rose ceremony. What are the showrunners going to do about that?”

Helena's face brightens a little, but some doubt remains.

“I don't know... What if he tells them?”

“He wouldn't.”

Too late, it occurs to Rosaline that the way she just said that makes it sound like she knows Benvolio better than she has any right to. But to her relief, Helena nods slowly.

“I know. He's a good guy.” 

“Then go talk to him.” 

“What, now?”

“Why not? No camera crew around this late.” 

Helena looks uncertain for another moment, then she nods decisively.

“You're right. Asking Benvolio to send me packing might be the easiest way to get out of this.”

With that, Helena sets off in the same direction Rosaline came from, and Rosaline retreats to her own room. Luckily, she realises once she's back safely in her room, Helena was (understandably) distracted from asking why Rosaline herself was roaming the mansion in the middle of the night. In turn, her conversation with Helena did a good job of distracting Rosaline from her own thoughts – and she has plenty of those, starting with one undeniable fact: She kissed Benvolio Montague.

Voluntarily.

Or maybe _he_ kissed _her_? After all, it was him who suggested they “practice”, him who reached out to cradle her face, him who closed the distance between them to press his lips against hers... But it was her who went to his bedroom in the first place, who went along with his suggestion and even tried to speed it along, with no one there to force or manipulate her. Sure, she did it so she'll be better prepared to deal with the rising pressure from the producers to give them something more interesting than polite conversation. But they weren't there in that moment pushing her in his arms, were they?

No, it was her decision, and hers alone, to straddle his lap, to let him kiss her and kiss him back, to draw closer and pretty much unleash all the tension that's been building up inside her lately. Her decision to keep going, keep finding out how much he was willing to give her and finding that the answer was _more_ : More than she would have thought possible; and certainly more than she thought she wanted. And, as hard as it is to admit, she knows that she would have taken even more, if he hadn't drawn back, and this is really the core of what has her so unsettled now: The realisation that, tonight, in some capacity, she _wanted_ Benvolio Montague.

It's a realisation that sends her into a momentary stupor, because she absolutely cannot bring herself to go the next mental step and start thinking about what it _means_ – for her, for their partnership, for the rest of the show's filming. What, if anything, it could mean for them as people beyond their roles on this show and on the _Gazette_.... But that is not a direction she can let her thoughts stray in, she knows. She can't even begin to think of anything beyond the show, not now when they have to be ever more careful, ever more alert.

Still, the thought niggles at the back of her mind, struggling to bring itself to the forefront of her mind, and bringing along an even more unwelcome friend: The accompanying question of whether Benvolio wanted her just as much. He was enjoying himself, that part she recalls with certainty and relief. After all, she wouldn't want to have assaulted her ally in her eagerness, and from the way he happily went along with whatever she did and even urged her on, she knows there can be no question of that at least.

Still, there's the question of whether his eager response was born in the moment too, or if it was based on something that was already there, something she thinks she might have seen there before, quick flashes of it when they were inspecting the art he painted on her body, when he stood before her after opening her bathrobe at the spa...

Luckily, Rosaline is stopped from letting her thoughts continue in that particular direction by a soft knock on her door.

“Rosaline?” 

The quiet voice outside is Helena's, and Rosaline hastens to open the door and invite her friend in. But Helena shakes her head.

“I don't want to keep you up any longer. I just wanted to tell you, I talked to him and he said he'll help, just like you said. So, thank you. For listening, and for your advice.” 

“Anytime. And if you need to talk again, you know I'm here.” 

“I know.” 

Helena reaches out and pulls her into a hug, and Rosaline lets herself lean into it – happy to have helped a friend, and yet at the same time a little bit wistful about the fact that she can't ask for the same comfort even if she knows Helena would provide it. She could certainly use someone to talk to, and after tonight, that someone can't be Benvolio – but she can't risk her assignment by telling the truth to Helena either, which means she'll spend the rest of the night stuck alone with her troublesome thoughts.

Then again, she thinks as she says goodnight to Helena and closes the door again, there's really no reason why she should continue to let those thoughts keep her up. After all, shouldn't Helena's example be the best proof of how complicated things can get on this show, especially when actual feelings start to emerge where they weren't supposed to?

She should be thanking her lucky stars that she's not emotionally entangled with anyone while she's being put on display for the entertainment of millions of viewers, her every show of emotion twisted and exploited. No, it's best that she keep a level head and look at the events of tonight rationally.

And rationally speaking, what _really_ happened?

She and Benvolio made out a bit, for the perfectly sensible reason of wanting to be prepared in case the producers would keep pressuring them to do the same thing on camera. She enjoyed herself, a little too much perhaps but not so much as to go too far – and considering that she's been stressed and Benvolio is a decent kisser, she thinks she really shouldn't blame herself for getting a little bit carried away. Nor should it come as such a shock that she enjoyed herself – so he's a sexually experienced person who happens to be good at kissing; what of it? It's probably just a matter of lots and lots of practice, a skill that can be deployed in any situation and on any woman, much like his artistic talent. It doesn't have to mean that there was anything about that kiss that was specific to the two of them, or that he kissed her in a way that was at all different from how he would kiss any other woman. It probably was exactly as unexceptional to him as it should be to her.

And on this thought Rosaline makes her conclusion of the eventful night and decides that, rather than committing some irredeemable mistake, she actually accomplished quite a few things: She helped a friend get out of a sticky situation. She managed to be a little better prepared for the upcoming challenges of filming the show. And she saw yet more proof that, contrary to her initial beliefs, Benvolio really is a trustworthy ally who, as much as he likes to tease her, would not do anything to hurt her. After all, didn't he do his best to help her with her problem? Not only did he come up with a solution, but he also tried to make her more comfortable when it was apparent that she was not, insisting they take things slow and reassuring her they wouldn't do anything she wasn't comfortable with. She never had a doubt about that anyway, oddly enough, but the fact that he took the time to try and empathise with her, and to deal with what he assumed she was afraid of... that should be a much more important takeaway than the fact that he managed to make her momentarily lose all sense of time and place.

So really, these are the things she should take away from tonight – and instead of brooding and fidgeting and imagining that what happened between her and Benvolio tonight is in any way cause for alarm, she should just go to bed and sleep well in the knowledge that she's well prepared for the next challenges, and she has a partner by her side she genuinely trusts.

So that's exactly what she does.

***

 

With the decision made to be both optimistic and decidedly unfazed about what happened, Rosaline enters the next morning's shoot with unexpected confidence – only to be thrown off-balance again when Benvolio picks her for the day's date. Her second one-on-one date, she realises, and thinks with horror of the inevitable speculation about them that will follow once the episode airs, carrying her name straight to the fan-blogs and gossip sites and yellow press publications that closely follow the show, and of course straight to the attention of all the hateful people seemingly ready to go into a frenzy at the mere sight of her.

But all thoughts of the outside world are quickly erased when Benvolio reveals the activity of the day: Skydiving. As in, jumping out of a plane and relying on a piece of thin cloth to safely get her back to the ground.

So maybe she doesn't have to worry about becoming reality show-famous at all, because maybe she'll never make it back from this attempt on her life masquerading as a date.

The one good thing about it, she concludes once the instructor finishes telling them about all the mistakes that can get them killed and she steps into the harness keeping the parachute strapped to her back, is that for once, Benvolio looks as nervous as she feels.

"You know, skydiving sounded like such a poetic idea, but now I'm not so sure about it anymore."

"Well, tough luck," she says and follows the instructor to the plane waiting for them on the runway. "Because there's no turning back now."

“I would call you heartless for that, but I guess I got myself into this.” 

“You're damn right you did.” 

The plane is tiny, and once they've all boarded it – Rosaline, Benvolio, the two instructors jumping with them and the two-man camera crew – it gets pretty squished in the plane's hold. Rosaline and Benvolio are manoeuvered to sit next to each other on a bench across from the camera team, which means Rosaline has to pretend to be excited, or risk being called a bitch by hundreds of strangers on the internet again – or what was the polite term? _Unapproachable_.

Benvolio must have come to the same conclusion regarding the camera crew, because he scoots even closer and takes her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Hey, it's okay to be nervous.” 

She doesn't bother to protest, choosing instead to smile weakly and lean closer into him as if looking for reassurance. The motor starts up at that moment, and the sound guy sets aside his microphone, apparently deciding that he won't get any good audio out of them up here.

The camera man takes a few more shots of the two of them and the interior of the plane, and Benvolio, under the cover of the engine noise, leans in to ask:

“Hey – are we good?“ 

Rosaline turns her head to look at him.

“You mean will I forgive you for making me plunge to my death? I'm not sure yet.“ 

He chuckles, but his amusement fades quickly.

“That's not what I meant, actually.“ 

Casting a nervous glance at the camera man and the sound guy, and finding that neither of them are paying attention to them at the moment, he leans even closer, his shoulder and knee bumping into hers.

“I mean, because of last night? Things got a little...“ he makes a hand movement that can't possibly mean anything specific, and yet she still understands exactly what he's alluding to, “and you left kind of abruptly...“ 

“It's fine,“ she cuts him off. “I was just tired.“

His expression says he doesn't believe her, but with the camera crew so close, she doesn't want to risk him questioning her further. Besides, as she decided last night, it really _is_ fine, so there's nothing more to talk about.

“We got our practicing in – that's what matters, right?“ She smiles and, just to drive it home how very cool she is with everything, pats his knee lightly. “I feel much more prepared to make a move on you for the cameras now.” 

“Well, I'm glad I could help.” His wry answer is followed by a pensive silence, which Rosaline is thankful for. She turns a little to look out the window behind her, watching as they rise further and further away from the ground. 

But Benvolio doesn't seem to be finished yet with her reply.

“Hey, who says you'll be the one making the move?” 

Rosaline laughs – but her laughter gets stuck when the pilot speaks up over the onboard intercom.

“All right, everyone, we're nearing our target height, which means it's time for you to get ready to jump.” 

On that cue, the crowded hold of the plane gets busy. The camera and audio people are getting their gear ready and finding the best place to shoot their jump without getting sucked out, and the skydiving instructors who will be jumping with them start strapping them to their gear.

Now that the jump is coming up, Rosaline is once again wondering why the hell she agreed to this. Sure, she won't be jumping alone – a seasoned instructor will be with her doing most of the work, and she'll just have to focus on not peeing her pants.

Still. It's... a lot.

By the time the pilot opens the cargo hold and they all shuffle over in their awkward tandems, even Benvolio looks a little pale, which Rosaline finds deeply vindicating. Benvolio will jump first – they played rock-paper-scissors to make the decision – so she has to pretend to be not even a little bit afraid for only a few seconds longer.

The pilot gives his okay for them to jump, Benvolio's instructor starts counting down, and Benvolio lets out a deep breath.

“Alright, Capulet – see you on the other side.” 

Then he's gone, dropping out of the side of the plane and hurtling towards the ground with a speed she doesn't want to contemplate, and it only sinks in then that he just slipped up: He's never called her “Capulet” on camera before, and he's not supposed to – the contestants all go by their first names on the show, and there's no good reason why Benvolio should have remembered her last name in particular. But before she can start to freak out about it, her instructor asks:

“Ready?” 

She nods, not sure if she is but sure that she's not going to go back now, and then the instructor leads her into a sideways step and she follows and the ground drops out under her, replaced by whipping wind and wide blue sky.

She's _flying_.

She doesn't know how long it lasts – the crew will later tell her she was freefalling for about a minute – but she knows she'll never forget what it feels like. It makes her want to cry and scream and laugh all at the same time, to try and hug the whole world.

It's _amazing_ – and then it's already over again, the ground reaching out and letting gravity deliver her back into its grip, and she'd be sad about it if she wasn't too busy feelling so very much _alive_.

She lands perfectly in the position that's been explained to them before, holding her legs so that she simply ends up sitting on her butt with only a slight bump when she hits the ground. The instructor opens the hooks keeping their harnesses together and gets to his feet, but Rosaline isn't quite as confident in her legs' ability to hold her up just yet. She only nods at the instructor's question if she's alright and then flops onto her back to stare back up at the sky – the sky she just _fell out of._

She's still trying to get her bearings, heart racing and legs tingling, when Benvolio leans over her, holding out his hands to pull her to her feet. She holds on and is yanked upright, blood rushing from her head and making her dizzy, but Benvolio's right there to steady her. When the dizziness passes, he's smiling at her and, she notices a second later, she's smiling right back.

And then he kisses her.

Her stomach swoops and she thinks " _Yes, of course_ " and kisses him back, with a giddy laugh in the back of her throat and her arms tight around his neck to keep her upright until her legs are ready to do so again. There may be solid ground under her feet, but it still feels like she's flying, or still falling perhaps – she isn't really sure where the difference is anymore.

When Benvolio pulls back with a breathless laugh, he sounds just as dazed as she feels.

"Looks like we survived," he observes, and she almost responds that of course they did, they practised for this, when it occurs to her that he means they survived the jump, not the kiss that came after.

"Looks like it," she replies, breathless, and she guesses that means she's done enough for her cover – went on the date, participated, kissed Benvolio. Anything a contestant should want from this situation, she got out of it. And yet, she suddenly, irrationally, feels like there might be more to want here.

"Now what?", she asks, half-expecting him to have an answer to the question of what to do with _herself_ , now that her stomach is fluttering and her lips are tingling and her body is humming where it's pressed against his.

But Benvolio shrugs, unwilling or unable to sense the uproar inside her, then starts to move away from her despite the unspoken protest itching in her fingertips.

"I could ask if they'll let us go again," he suggests, smiling cheekily as he nods over to the crew, standing just feet away to watch and  _film_ their entire interaction. Rosaline completely forgot they're even here, and now that she's suddenly reminded, it hits her just as suddenly what that means: She managed to take the hurdle of actually kissing Benvolio on camera – and three days from now, everyone she knows and a lot more people she doesn't know will get to see the results.

But even as nervousness starts to spread inside her, Rosaline thinks rebelliously: Not now. She just learned how it feels to fly – she's not going to let a bunch of strangers take that away from her.

"Yes," she agrees, "you should do that."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had stuff to say in the notes, but I completely forgot about all of it because I'm so incredibly tired.  
> Some of you already guessed what Helena's storyline is - and don't worry: I won't let her get hurt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the least plot relevant chapter yet - but I still kind of like it.

They don't get to jump again, unfortunately – but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, Rosaline is thinking that maybe she's fine with just the one jump. Her legs are still a little bit wobbly even after they've taken off their harnesses and walked back to the limousine, and she's looking forward to sinking into the soft leather seats and not getting up for a good two hours. But when they get there, instead of climbing in, the door is blocked when Benvolio catches the producer's arm and stops him from getting inside.

“Can we maybe... get some more time together, alone?”

“Sure you can,” the producer shrugs, then follows it up with an unsavoury smirk. “Just take her to the Romance Suite.”

Rosaline grits her teeth in annoyance, but since she's not sure if she's meant to be a part of the conversation, she stays quiet. But Benvolio isn't giving up yet: He leans closer and flashes the producer an easy smile, the kind that magically creates companionship between men, or at the very least, complicity.

“But there's only one night at the Romance Suite, and still half a dozen women left to pick from. I just want to... make an informed decision, y'know?”

Yes, Rosaline thinks, she's definitely not supposed to overhear this part of the conversation.

She turns to study her impression in the darkened windows of the window, pretends to be busy smoothing her wind-torn hair. Inevitably, her thoughts take the opportunity to take off at a run, wondering why he wants to be alone with her. Is there something urgent they need to talk about? Helena perhaps? Or does he think they'll just make out a little more, just for fun, as soon as they're alone? And, a cheeky part of her mind adds to that question: Would she want to?

No, the tells herself resolutely – she's not going to make a habit out of kissing her research partner at any given opportunity now. They've practiced so they'd be ready to do it on camera. Benvolio took the opportunity, earlier, to apply that practice for an on-camera kiss that should buy them some time before the producers get greedy again, and that settles the subject of kissing for now.

By the time she's come to this decision and looks up again, the producer is shooing the camera and sound guy into the other car, and Benvolio is holding open the door of the limousine for her, grinning triumphantly.

“After you,” he invites her in with a gallant flourish.

Rosaline allows herself one little eyeroll as she gets into the back of the limo, checking to see that there really are no cameras around and the little window to the driver's seat is closed. Then she sits down at the far corner of the bench, waiting for Benvolio to close the door and sit down across from her while the car starts up.

“So this is how you're “handling” the producers – by appealing to their sleazy side.”

“It works, doesn't it?”

“Plus, it's probably not that far a stretch for you,” she quips, then wonders why she felt the need to do so. Hasn't he shown her that he's not as bad as she used to think?

Benvolio's thoughts must have taken a similar direction, because he considers her for a moment, head cocked to the side.

“You know, I never figured out how you came to have such a bad opinion of me before we even really knew each other.”

This, she supposes, would be a good opportunity to admit that she may have been a little bit off in her estimation of him – but then, he would no doubt take that as an apology and be smug about it, and her pride hasn't been worn down quite enough yet for that.

“We still don't _really_ know each other. We pretend to flirt for the cameras – it's a very different thing.”

“I don't know, Capulet – I like to think I've come to know _some_ things.”

She doesn't reply to the statement, too afraid that it's not as far from the truth as she'd like. Sometimes, with the cameras both on and off, she thinks some truths about herself might have slipped through the cracks in her armor – just as bits of knowledge about him have seeped into her mind: His genuine compassion, his earnest dedication to his art (which, she has to admit, she used to write off as nothing more than lazy doodling), his penchant for blondes (not exclusively, but the selection of women left on the show is definitely skewed towards the blonde, willowy type). She knows things she wishes she could delete entirely from her memory, and yet they insist on swimming back to the surface of her mind at the most inopportune moments: The taste of his toothpaste, so intensely minty she doesn't think she could stand the sharpness herself; the softness of his lips no matter how heated their kiss turned last night; the sound of that little moan that escaped him when she slid her fingers up the back of his neck...

A loud “pop” tears her out of her thoughts: Benvolio has just opened the bottle of champagne resting in a cooler on the little table before them.

Rosaline raises an eyebrow, and Benvolio laughs.

“It's a two-hour drive – this is our one chance to get tipsy without a bunch of cameras on us.”

For a moment she hesitates, wonders what hidden agenda he's working on. But there's nothing hidden behind his smile, she knows – he's pretty much the only one around here without an agenda when it comes to her. She takes the glass.

“So, no cameras in here, huh?”

Benvolio shakes his head.

“They don't bother to properly instal cameras in the limousines, since those are rentals and they only have them for a few hours. They just stick a Go Pro to the ceiling corner if they want to get an extra angle in here.”

His explanation is very reassuring, since there don't seem to be any cameras glued to the ceiling, but the way he says it, with the casual tone of an expert, makes her giggle.

“What, you're on a tv show for a few weeks and suddenly you know all about cameras?”

He tries to hide it, but Benvolio looks a little bit embarrassed to be caught at what she's now sure was an attempt to show off. Grinning, Rosaline takes her first sip of champagne, and then another one right after because she can, and because it goes perfectly with listening to Benvolio's fumbled explanation.

“I made a deal with one of the camera men – he told me all about the hidden cameras, and I promised to make sure I only ever go for... romantic scenes in spots with good lighting.”

Now Rosaline is staring at him, genuinely impressed.

“Apparently, the editing room gives them crap about it when they come back with badly lit footage. They used to blame the lighting guys, but then _they_ retaliated by badly lighting the sets on purpose, and the whole thing sort of escalated.”

Rosaline gasps as something occurs to her.

“Wait, is that why everything in season three was so dark?”

Benvolio nods with a little smile.

“Apparently, they call it The Dark Year.”

The way he's looking at her is an invitation to join in on his mirth and Rosaline does. His description of all this behind-the-scenes intrigue is too vivid for her not to imagine it – lighting technicians, editors and camera crews all locked in a battle of wills that ended up changing the visuals of an entire show, and suddenly Rosaline finds that she's laughing and can't stop, and so is Benvolio.

It's not entirely about the great lighting war of season three, she's sure – there must be a lingering trace of adrenaline spiking their laughter and pitching it into the hysterical, combined with the heady fizzy alcohol, but she doesn't care. She laughs and laughs, tears running down her cheeks, and Benvolio is equally out of it. They're tilting closer together, heads bent close and heaving shoulders bumping into each other, and when her laughter finally subsides, fading out with a few more wheezing breaths, she's startled to find just how close he is, how quiet it suddenly is in the small enclosed space.

Suddenly feeling hot and flustered for no reason, Rosaline sits up straight and scooches backwards on the seat again, clearing her throat to shake off the inexplicable awkwardness.

“So, what else did the camera guys tell you?”

Benvolio looks at her quietly for another moment, then he mirrors her actions of leaning back into the the plush leather backrest and starts giving some more examples. She's never really considered how much technical details such as lighting and angles might influence the producers' strategies, and Rosaline finds herself impressed by how much work Benvolio has put into research this aspect of the filming – for a story that, after all, is _her_ baby.

“And you got all of that just from promising to stand in the right place during shooting?”

“No, I got a lot of that just from... talking to them, I guess. There's a lot of waiting around between shoots sometimes, and it's a nice break from endlessly talking about what I think of the contestants and how I'm desperate to find love.”

“And they don't get suspicious about your questions?”

“I'm just taking an interest in their work. I know you think everyone working here is some sort of diabolical mastermind, but some of them are just normal guys doing their job. Doesn't mean they're not proud of it when it comes out looking nice.”

Rosaline shakes her head slowly, grappling with the thought.

“I'm still kind of amazed that they told you all this.”

Benvolio just shrugs.

“I guess it just comes naturally to me.”

“The whole “charming people”-thing?”

This is where she expects him to gloat about the fact that she accidentally praised him – for being _charming_ , nonetheless – but Benvolio's smile is oddly melancholy.

“The whole “trying to make people like me”-thing.”

It's an odd statement, Rosaline thinks, made even more odd by the tone of his voice – but before she can ask what he means, Benvolio is pouring her another glass of champagne and changing the subject, and she soon forgets all about it again as something else occurs to her.

“Helena says she talked to you last night, about letting her go.”

“Yup. No rose for her tonight.” He hands her the refilled champagne flute. “Crazy story though, isn't it? Coming onto the most heteronormative show imaginable only to find out she's into women.”

“ _Heteronormative_?”, Rosaline repeats – that particular word choice is certainly unexpected.

Benvolio, noticing her surprise, grins.

“What? I've been at Verona U for a while, I took a gender studies class or two.”

She decides to brush past this – he's already starting to look smug about it.

“So she told you the whole story?”

“Yes. Hopefully by the end of the day she's free of this show and free to be with her scary girlfriend.”

So Helena even mentioned Isabella – quite a show of trust, Rosaline thinks. Then again, she herself told Helena to trust Benvolio.

“She _is_ scary, isn't she?”

“ _So_ scary. I mean, I didn't have much to do with her so far, but I have a feeling I'd pretty much do whatever she told me to.”

“Dito. She actually threatened me last night, when I walked in on her and Helena saying goodnight. She thought I might want to share what I witnessed for money or publicity, and she made it very clear that she'd make me regret it. Apparently, there's a “folder full of strategies to make my life hell”.”

“A folder?” Benvolio shakes his head with a chuckle. “I hope she was exaggerating.”

“I really don't think she was. But it got me thinking: Maybe after the show, I should talk to her some more about those strategies. And to Helena, about the producers threatening to out her.”

“You want to include their story in the article?”

“Only if they agree to it. But come on, that's exactly the kind of shit we want to expose. And it will be good for people to hear stories like that – stories that don't fit the show's narrow mold of what love is supposed to look like.”

She's almost ready to jump into a lengthy explanation – the kind Benvolio would probably consider a rant – but he cuts her off before she can start.

“I agree. If they're okay with it, I think you should include it.”

“Of course, before I can get started on the article, first I have to make it through the actual show without humiliating myself any further.”

“Come on, it's not that bad. You've been doing fine so far.”

“ _Fine_? I arrived in the most ridiculous dress ever featured on television. I have now taken off my clothes and walked around in my bathing-suit twice, _on camera_. I _cried_ , again, on camera, over a bunch of completely foreseeable comments. None of those were things I intended to do.”

“So what? None of those are all that terrible. For one thing, the others are walking around in their bathing-suits all the time...-”

“Of course, _you're_ not going to complain about that...”

“Why would I?” He grins cheekily. “Like I was saying, none of those things are as bad as you seem to think they are. The dress was hilarious, yes, but people will have forgotten all about it by the end of the season, and the colour suited you, at least. And as for crying on camera – you realise that's a good thing, right? It's human, it's real, and even if people don't know the full story, they respond to that. Besides, literally every contestant has cried on camera at some point. It's basically a sacred ritual on this show.”

This gives Rosaline pause for a moment. Maybe he's right – maybe she is overreacting? After all, she has found out how people perceive her, but she has no idea how the other characters have been presented. It seems reasonable that at least some of them were shown in an equally unflattering light. Maybe in comparison, she really didn't stand out all that much?

Then again, she thinks and remembers those horrible comments, forever seared into her mind: She stood out _enough_.

“Even so... I don't know, I guess I was just hoping I'd manage to keep some semblance of control over how I appear on the show.” She laughs, suddenly astonished at her own naiveté. "Maybe that was just ridiculously naive from the start." 

“Or maybe being in control is overrated.”

“Not when you're trying to protect yourself. I didn't want to show anything of my real self on here. I was trying to stick to the role of contestant Rosaline instead of real Rosaline, but I keep slipping.”

“Is that really such a problem though? I mean, what's wrong with real Rosaline?”

“Quite a lot, according to the logic of the showrunners and the fans.”

“Like what?”

“For one thing, I seem to have too many opinions.”

“I think you have a healthy amoung of opinions.”

“I also stand accused of expressing them too aggressively.”

“Well, if people aren't listening otherwise...”

Rosaline clucks her tongue innocently.

“Will you _stop_ that?”

“Stop what?” Benvolio is acting all wide-eyed and innocent, but Rosaline has caught on to what he's doing.

“You know – acting like it's all _so_ simple.”

“Have you considered that maybe it _is_ so simple? I mean, so what if a few strangers say stupid shit about you on the internet – the only people whose opinion of you matters are the people who matter to _you_.”

He pauses, ostensibly to take a sip of his champagne but also, she suspects, to let his words sink in. Rosaline briefly wonders if she should be annoyed that she's being preached to about her own situation – but then she guesses he's at least in a position to understand it, and his advice does sound awfully appealing when he sums it up once more:

“So here's a thought: Why don't you try to stop worrying about how you come across on the show, and allow yourself to have a little bit of fun every once in a while.”

That definitely sounds appealing – and after all, she has done just that, a few times at least.

“I had fun at the spa the other day.”

“Well, there you go.”

“And the skydiving was kinda cool too.”

“ _Kinda cool_?”

“Okay, it was amazing. Is that what you want to hear?”

“That's exactly what I wanted to hear. And just because you seem to have trouble coming up with the appropriate words to describe it, here are some more: Marvelous. Life-changing. Exhilarating. You could even try “indescribable”, although I think that might be cheating...”

Rosaline has to laugh – and then to marvel at the fact that the laughter comes so easily around him now, without a hint of begrudging him for making her laugh.

“And here I thought _I_ was the writer.”

“I didn't mean to intrude on your territory. I just have a lot of talents; I thought I'd share.”

“How very generous of you.”

“That's just how I am.” Another cheeky grin, which Rosaline responds to with an eyeroll that feels almost obligatory at this point and which, judging by his little laugh following it, was exactly what he expected.

Then he leans forward to press a button set into a panel in the car door and a tv screen set into the side of the car flickers to life. From a compartment next to the minibar, Benvolio takes a remote and points it at the screen to select the Netflix app out of a range of entertainment-related logos.

“Now, how about we stop thinking about the show for a little bit and just watch a movie?”

“No talking about the show?”, Rosaline replies, immediately won over by the idea. “I'm in.”

And that's the plan they stick to for the rest of the ride: No mention of anything show-related, no worries about keeping their cover, no planning of her article. They just spend two hours stretched out on the soft leather seats of the limousine, sipping champagne and watching the latest action blockbuster, and Rosaline finds herself thinking, not for the first time, that she's glad Benvolio is here. Because he has a knack for carving out those little moments of peace for her just when she needs them the most – and because she's starting to think that he might be a pretty good person to have as a friend, maybe even beyond their current adventure as undercover reality tv stars.

Which, she thinks, is all the more reason not to overthink the kiss they shared earlier, or the one last night, or any other displays of attention they might have to come up with to maintain their cover for the rest of the shooting. Those moments of intimacy are a part of that cover, nothing more. But moments like this, conversations that are honest and sometimes fraught and confrontative and that prompt her mind to travel along new paths and open itself to new possibilities – those are real, and she thinks she'd like for them to have more moments like them.

 

***

Rosaline may have managed to stop herself from thinking about Benvolio's kiss after landing their skydive, opting instead to declare their growing closeness a friendship and deciding that that should end all thoughts of kissing him. But at Verona University, that same kiss immediately becomes the most talked-about issue the moment it airs.

At the _Gazette's_ editorial offices, of course, the conversation takes a slightly different direction from the rest of the town: Here, the issue is not if that kiss might spell romance for the town's newest local celebrities, but rather how much of it even speaks of any real attraction.

“It's obviously fake,” comments one undergrad. “They just have to make it look like they're attracted to each other so it's plausible for Rosaline to stay on the show.”

This opinion is shared by almost everyone except for the one junior editor who has been so determinedly insisting that there's a real connection growing between their two moles – or, as he puts it, “shipping them”. Still, the consensus after the end of the episode is that the kiss was a fake – a well-done, beautifully edited fake, but a fake nonetheless.

But even as the others file out of the room and Juliet and Mercutio settle in for their more thorough rewatch, Juliet can't quite shake the thought that maybe that kiss wasn't as staged as everyone seems to believe, and Escalus in particular. Sure, they did talk about the necessity of keeping up the charade by having the two of them get closer and pretend to be attracted to each other – but there was something on Rosaline's face after they drew apart that Juliet is reluctant to write off as a mere side effect of skydiving-induced adrenaline, and that something is still there when they get to the scene in question again.

Then again, the scene is heavily edited, pulling every trick in the book to convey the breathless rush the two people on screen must be experiencing in that moment: Slow motion alternated with quick zooms, soaring music and even footage shot with a drone circling them from above and only adding to the delicious vertigo of the moment. It is masterfully edited, and doesn't fail to have an effect on Juliet in particular, a not-so-secret romantic at heart.

“Ugh, they make it look so _good_!”

“You mean pretending that two people who normally hate each other are falling in love?”

“I don't think they ever _hated_ each other,” Juliet protests. “But I mean the whole romance, the kiss – look at how fucking _magical_ that is!”

She points accusingly at the monitor, where Rosaline and Benvolio are once again kissing after getting back to the ground. The regular camera view has been replaced by the _drone_ footage, approaching the two from above and giving off the impression that they might as well still be soaring through the sky.

“Oh, you're one of those,” Mercutio says with a groan. “ _Another_ one!”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you're one of those hopeless romantics, and I'm already dealing with enough of those. I mean, Benvolio is bad enough, and his cousin Romeo is even worse, and now you're turning out to be one as well?”

“I wouldn't say _hopeless_...” Juliet briefly considers standing her ground, then something else captures her attention. “Benvolio has a cousin?”

“Yes, he's an undergrad here in Verona too – he's not involved with the _Gazette_ though, he's too busy with, I don't know, some sort of sport, I think. Or was it environmentalism? Drama? I can't recall – he switches interests a lot.”

“Is he cute?”

“He's a gorgeous little romantic like you,” Mercutio replies and then, ever the meddler, offers: “I can introduce you, if you want. Although you probably shouldn't be seen hanging around together while those two are still on the show”, he nods his head at the screen, which is now showing alternating close-ups of the bright smiles on Rosaline's and Benvolio's faces. “They're not supposed to have known each other before, and I'm guessing that includes their friends and family.”

Juliet nods – it's a good point. They can't be too careful when it comes to protecting Rosaline and Benvolio's cover, including their claim that they've never met before the show.

“You'll have to set us up in secret then.” She grins as something occurs to her. “It might actually be romantic. Very “star-crossed lovers”.”

Mercutio groans.

“I fucking _hate_ romantics.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about Romeo's interests: I only added "environmentalism" as a shout-out to Julibernardo who mentioned it in a comment, but then once I did I found it hilariously fitting that Romeo would flit from interest to interest.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday evening, aka the best updating time! I haven't really had the time or the energy to write much lately, but I've finally managed to cobble together another chapter, and somehow it turned into a 6k beast! Funny how that works.

Later that day, when the ground finally feels solid again under her feet, Rosaline watches Helena trying to look sad as she says goodbye to Benvolio, and stifles a smile of her own. A selfish part of her may be sad about seeing her friend go, but mostly, she's relieved to see Helena escape a situation that was so obviously difficult for her. And if she had any doubts about that, they're erased when Helena comes over to hug her goodbye, leaning in close to whisper “thank you” into her ear.

Rosaline returns the hug tightly, a rare occasion of human contact based on real affection and not just dictated by the producers' script. Over Helena's shoulder, she can see Benvolio watching them thoughtfully and allows herself to shoot him a tiny, careful smile that is promptly and just as carefully returned.

Whatever else happens, whether her article makes any difference or not, they did this little bit of good.

***

 

Over all the excitement with Helena and Isabella, Rosaline almost forgets that the show is drawing closer to its grand finale – even though that means they're approaching a part of the show she's been looking forward to since week one. Towards the end of the season, when there's only a handful of contestants left, some of their friends and family are invited to the set, to get to know "Mister Right" and tell him all about how great their daughter/sister/best friend is, officially - but the real reason is of course to deliver some emotion in the form of tear-jerking family reunions. And with how exhausted the few remaining contestants are, Rosaline is sure there will be tears aplenty.

She herself can hardly wait to see Livia, who promised to fly in from her semester abroad in England to come on the show. Rosaline protested against that plan, but secretly, she was glad when her sister insisted. It's bad enough that her little sister's been living halfway around the globe, and she would already miss her like crazy under normal circumstances – but right now, she could really use Livia's quiet support and unflinching optimism.

And then the producers gather them in the courtyard to have the host announce that they're putting a little twist on the usual family reunion.

"On this season, we're not going to meet our contestants' families – we're going to meet our "Mister Right"'s!"

He smiles beatifically as if he had just handed them a great gift, but there's not a single happy expression around their little group - not even, Rosaline notices, on Benvolio's face, which turns from cautiously neutral to nervous and suspicious as the host continues:

"The most important person in Benvolio's life has invited us all to go visit him: His uncle, who raised him like a son when Benvolio's parents died, and who can't wait to meet the woman who will win his nephew's heart. So pack your best dress, ladies – we're going on a trip, and you have someone to impress!"

By now, the first contestants have caught themselves after the nasty surprise and are pretending to be excited, and Rosaline joins in with their chatter – but only after shooting one more glance at Benvolio. She didn't imagine it, she finds: Benvolio may be smiling now, saying something about how excited he is that the contestants are getting to meet his family. But his smile looks strained and his voice sounds hollow, and Rosaline would bet actual money that he's anything but happy about the change of plans.

There has to be something more to the story the host has spun about his uncle, of a generous man taking in little Benvolio to raise him as his own, and she finds herself a little bit curious to find out what is really behind it. But, she reminds herself: Whatever it is, it's Benvolio's story. He'll have a hard enough time guarding his family secrets from the producers, he doesn't need her prying as well.

***

 

Benvolio's uncle invites them all to his mansion, a sprawling villa just outside of Verona. It's weird to be so close to home and yet unable to see her friends and family, but Rosaline quickly pushes that thought aside. Not much longer, she tells herself, and this will all be over.

For now, there's plenty of impressions to take in as they stroll through the mansion, stopping every few steps to marvel at this piece of art or that architectural feature Benvolio's uncle points out to them. Rosaline has never personally met him before, but he's a regular fixture in the local news, buying companies and leading philanthropic causes – at least the ones guaranteed to catch the media's attention. There's even talk of him aiming for a career in politics, with good chances. To say Damiano Montague is a big deal in Verona would be an understatement, and Rosaline must have always been vaguely aware of this, the same way she's always been made aware that her own family is, or at the very least considers itself, equally important even if their own wealth can't quite match the Montagues', no matter how old their money. She knows what people around here associate with the name Montague - she just never thought about what it meant for Benvolio.

But during the two-hour tour of the house, Rosaline has plenty of occasion to observe and speculate, and since there's not much else required of her, that's exactly what she does, in between longing glances at the gigantic pool behind the house. Her observations leave her with the impression that Damiano Montague is a larger-than-life presence looming over his nephew, although she can only guess at what it must have been like to live in the shadow of such a figure – until Rosaline, in a rare moment away from the contestants and crew, accidentally finds out just how things stand with Benvolio and his uncle.

Rosaline is on her way to the bathroom, passing by a heavy wooden door that is cracked open just a little, when she hears it: Two voices arguing inside the room and belonging, she's fairly sure, to Benvolio and his uncle. Against her better judgment, she slows down to listen.

"Can you tone it down a little?"

"Tone what down? I'm only showing our guests around; giving them a glimpse at the life they could have with you." The older man's voice has got to belong to Benvolio's uncle, a voice she found chilling even when he was being perfectly friendly earlier. Now, there's nothing friendly about it, despite the pretend innocence. “After all, that's what this whole charade is about, isn't it? Getting you a wife?”

"You're shamelessly flaunting our wealth," Benvolio argues back. "And to be honest, you're being pretty vulgar about it." His voice turns biting in a way she's never heard him sound. "I thought we were trying to make people forget that we're nouveau riche upstarts."

He landed a hit, Rosaline can tell the moment his uncle replies - but unfortunately, it seems to be the kind of hit that enrages its target instead of incapacitating it.

" _Our_ wealth? Did I miss something; did you suddenly turn into a productive member of this family and start pulling your weight?" There's a scraping sound, a few footsteps, but no one approaches the door. "You have _nothing_ that isn't mine. Don't you forget about it."

"Oh, I won't. After all, you never miss an opportunity to remind me."

She has to hand it to him, despite the slight tremor in his voice, Benvolio is standing his ground rather impressively – but his uncle isn't finished just yet.

"And it's a good thing I do too, because I don't think you really appreciate what you have here. You think these women are here for _you_?" He laughs mockingly. "Please, what would _you_ have to offer them if it wasn't for _my_ money – one of your little doodles?"

Another cold laugh, then the footsteps start moving again – towards her, Rosaline realises with a start, and dashes along down the corridor, blindly turning the next corner. The footsteps recede down the corridor into the other direction, back towards the living-room where the crew and contestants are currently filming interviews, and Rosaline lets out a breath of relief and leans her head back against the wall.

She's thoroughly rattled by what she just heard, by the amount of disdain coming from Benvolio's uncle – someone who is supposed to care for him, to replace the parents he lost when he was just a little boy. But instead of fatherly love and guidance, what Benvolio seems to receive from his uncle is outright abuse.

It sickens her, and then makes her angry because Rosaline knows exactly what it feels like. She's heard her share of similar remarks from her aunt and uncle – with mild disappointment in her uncle's voice, and biting vitriol in her aunt's. And even though it's been years since she moved out of their house and she hasn't taken a penny from them since (not that it was offered anyway), Rosaline still knows that her aunt, with just one pointed remark at a family gathering, can still cut her to the bone, take away all the confidence and pride she worked so hard for. She doesn't even want to imagine still being financially dependent on someone so determined to tear her down – and the fact that Benvolio apparently is makes her heart break for him.

Still, she can't hide out here forever, she knows – eventually, someone will come looking for her, camera in tow, and for Benvolio too.

Resigned, she turns back onto the corridor, bathroom break forgotten, only for the door to the study to swing open and allow out one of the very same people she's just been eavesdropping on.

Benvolio looks pale and shaky, his clenched jaw giving him an unusually stern expression. She knows exactly why he looks like this – and she also knows he shouldn't go back in front of the cameras just now. She should distract him at least long enough to get his bearings, she decides.

"That's quite a house, Montague – was it on MTV Cribs yet?"

It's not particularly witty, or particularly helpful considering what she just overheard about the things going on in that grand house, but it's the only thing she can think of on the spot.

"Funny."

Benvolio doesn't think so at all, of course, and his voice and posture suggest that her attempt failed and that he's still mentally in his uncle's study, being told how worthless he is – or perhaps in similar situations, years and years back, because something about that encounter suggested that there's a long-standing tradition behind it.

_"What would you have to offer them?"_ That was what the Montague patriarch asked his nephew, his tone implying the answer: _Nothing_. He's wrong, of course – Benvolio has plenty to offer besides his family's money, and Rosaline can admit that without even wanting it herself. But what a _cruel_ thing to say to someone, what a  despicable way to tear them down.

"Come on, we should head back to the shoot," Benvolio suggests, shoulders slumped and voice hollow, and Rosaline suddenly wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him close for what is clearly a much-needed hug.

But that would only raise questions and force her to admit to her eavesdropping, so Rosaline keeps her hands to herself. Still, she hates the idea of letting Benvolio go back in front of the cameras to act like everything's fine. She knows how draining that act is, and she wouldn't wish it on anyone. The least she can do is keep stalling.

"For what, more of your uncle's bragging?"

Benvolio looks surprised by her harsh words.

"He's not exactly subtle," she explains dryly, which actually earns her a little chuckle.

"No. My uncle doesn't really do _subtle_."

But his amusement fades again almost immediately, replaced by a resigned sigh.

"I'm serious, though. I don't want to leave him alone with the cameras for too long. Who knows what he might get up to?"

"I guess you'll just have to draw their attention away from him."

And that's when Rosaline has an idea.

"You know, that pool he was so proud of? I think it's a shame we didn't get to try it out."

For a moment, Benvolio looks at her like she's gone crazy – then his surprise is replaced by an expression that suggests he is at the very least intrigued.

“Capulet, are you plotting something?”

“I'm not _plotting_ anything,” she replies innocently. “I was just thinking – all these shots of walking around the house and having tea and fancy sandwiches must be getting a little boring for the camera crew. Maybe we should give them something more _fun_ to film.”

She smiles mischievously, then sets off the hallway without another word to carry out her idea.

***

 

Instigating mischief is not something Rosaline can say she has particular experience in – but with the noble goal of cheering up Benvolio and pissing off his domineering uncle, she finds that she might just have a talent for it.

The camera crew is easily persuaded to move the entire party outside to the terrace by the pool when Rosaline leans close to one of the camera men and promises with a sultry wink to make it worth his while. The official explanation given to Benvolio's uncle is that the light outside is better, bright and blazing in the afternoon sun, and soon they're all gathered by the pool with glasses of champagne.

The next ally Rosaline wins over is one of her fellow contestants, who as far as Rosaline knows has yet to end a date wearing more than her bikini.

“I don't know about you, but I think this party's getting a little boring. I mean, sure, we could continue to play the perfect little Stepford wives to impress Benvolio's uncle – but he's not the one who has to pick us in the end, is he? And I'm guessing Benvolio might just want someone who's a little bit more... fun.”

The other contestant looks at her as if she's been possessed, and to be fair, Rosaline does not sound much like herself right now. But while the other woman still seems unsure, Rosaline opens the zipper on the side of her conservative afternoon dress and starts pulling it over her head to show she means business.

“Suit yourself – I'm going to show Benvolio a good time while you're all standing around pretending to attend a garden party with the Queen of England.”

By the time her dress has hit the floor, her rival is following suit, unwilling to let herself be outdone by the designated stuck-up nerd of the show. Immediately, every single camera swivel towards them, cutting off Benvolio's uncle in the middle of yet another speech on all of his great plans for his family's glorious future, and the important role his nephew is to play in them.

With much shrieking and splashing, they're jumping into the pool – and since today was the first shoot where they were not instructed to wear a bathing-suit, they're doing so in nothing but their underwear.

When Rosaline emerges from the cool water, it is to find Benvolio's uncle red-faced and sputtering with anger, and Benvolio next to him sporting a broad grin.

“Hey, Mister Right”, she calls out, “you coming in?”

Benvolio doesn't hesitate: He toes off his shoes and takes off his shirt at the same time before he jumps in, still wearing his slacks and his grin.

The other two contestants follow after a moment of consideration, and soon the all-important Damiano Montague is left standing alone in the spot he has probably chosen specifically to show off his flashy mansion, looking forlorn and forgotten.

Rosaline can't say that she pities him one bit.

Having once made the daring jump into the pool, the other contestants quickly warm up to the idea of a little party, and soon, there's a rapidly escalating splash fight going on. Someone even managed to produce several colourful pool floats, leading Rosaline to wonder if the producers planned something similar or if they just always carry inflatable pool toys with them in case of spontaneous pool parties. Either option seems equally likely.

But relieved as she is that both the other contestants and the crew went along with the idea and not left her standing in her underwear and looking like an idiot, the biggest relief and the most important thing is that Benvolio is clearly enjoying himself. He challenged Rosaline to a splashing contest that sent two of the other contestants fleeing to the safe edge of the pool in fear for their elaborate hairdos, showed off his diving skills, and is currently carrying out a lively discussion over which pool float is the best with the others.

Yes, Rosaline decides, Benvolio is clearly fine and doesn't need her help getting distracted anymore. She can simply grab a pool float of her own and relax as well – but not before pointing out to Benvolio just how thoroughly they ruined his uncle's plans for the afternoon.

Draped over an inflatable flamingo, Rosaline floats towards him to lean in and whisper:

“I think the only way your uncle will get the camera's attention back now is if he jumps in with us himself.”

She flashes him a grin, hoping it will incite him to join her in imagining such an indignity for his uncle's pride, but Benvolio only stares at her silently.

Well, she thinks, she only wanted to give him an opportunity to laugh at the man who seems so skilled at deriding him – but if he doesn't want to take that opportunity, she's not going to force him. Slightly peeved, she grabs her pool float and is about to draw herself up onto it when she's stopped mid-movement by Benvolio's hand on her arm.

And before she can ask what he thinks he's doing, he's pulling her against him to kiss her.

It's harsh, purposeful, and completely unexpected.

After their last one-on-one date, where he kissed her after they got safely back from jumping out of the sky, Rosaline has put the issue of kissing her undercover research partner out of her mind almost entirely, believing – perhaps naively – that the producers would be happy with one little kiss as proof that yes, she really is interested in winning over Benvolio, and making strides towards that goal.

But perhaps that _still_ wasn't enough, and this time it was Benvolio who was instructed to “take their relationship to the next level”?

But somehow, this particular kiss doesn't feel like it has anything to do with the cameras, or with whatever secret tally the production crew might be keeping of the times the two of them have shared displays of affection. There's an urgency in it that speaks of the emotional turmoil Benvolio must have been going through today, in the way his hand digs into her hip and his mouth chases hers almost as if challenging her to kiss him back, to enter into whatever game he's playing not unlike the way he kept challenging her during their fencing match – and Rosaline has never been good at saying no to a challenge.

She lifts her arms from where they've been hanging uselessly by her side and slings them around his neck to pull herself closer and kiss him back, trying to return his kiss with the same force, the same determination – she's not going to give him an opportunity to claim, later, that he caught her off-guard.

But Benvolio is already drawing back, looking at her for a moment with an expression so inscrutable she wouldn't 't even know where to begin deciphering it.

She doesn't get a chance to try in any case: Behind them, whoops and whistles indicate that the others have watched them, and Benvolio steps back and turns towards them with a smile, a little shaky at first and then more and more cocky.

“Don't get jealous, ladies, there's enough of me for everyone.”

And just like that, he's back to the Benvolio she thought she knew him to be, the self-infatuated playboy with as much depth as the shallow end of his uncle's pool.

But unlike the times she's seen him take up this role before, this time Rosaline finds it jarring. There was a tension running through him when he held her that can't possibly have vanished just like this, and something locked away behind his bright gaze that she knows will have to be unleashed at some point, not pushed aside to make room for cheesy lines and outrageous flirting.

But cheesy lines and flirting are what the showrunners want, so that's what they'll get – the show must go on, after all.

Rosaline watches him rejoin the others, still with that twinge of annoyance she can't quite place – although it's probably just confusion at Benvolio's rash actions. They talked about the necessity of PDA, yes, but she did't think he'd take that to mean he should just go around kissing her willy-nilly, without so much as a hint of warning.

Not that it was unpleasant, per se – just... surprising, and Rosaline doesn't particularly like surprises.

Still, the whole thing did have one good outcome, she realizes when her eyes fall on Damiano Montague: By the edge of the pool, the Montague patriarch may as well have turned to stone, his entire face frozen save for a tiny tick in his jaw that suggests he has a lot of opinions on the current situation, and it takes all his restraint to hold them in. He looks immensely displeased, and Rosaline allows herself to feel smugly triumphant for a moment.

It's only when they all come out of the the pool that the elder Montague moves again, striding towards his nephew the moment he sets foot on dry land. Pretending to be engrossed in towelling herself off with the towels handed out by the production assistants, Rosaline creeps closer to listen once again, curious to hear for herself what the great Damiano Montague thinks of their little pool party – and the man does not hold back with his opinion when he addresses Benvolio.

“What the hell were you thinking going along with this ridiculous display? Is this what you want people to see of our family?”

Benvolio only grins at his uncle, and Rosaline hides behind towelling her hair to hide the fact that she's doing the same thing.

"I'm sorry, dear uncle – you seem to be labouring under the assumption that I give a damn what people think of our family. Well, I don't."

With that, he picks up his shirt and shoes, calm as you please, and walks off towards the house, shaking water out of his hair while his sodden pants keep riding dangerously low on his hips – someone who could not care less about anyone's opinion in this moment, and least of all about the opinion of Damiano Montague.

It's a small triumph, of course – but it's a triumph nonetheless, a brief, shining moment in a house where she suspects Benvolio had at least as many bad moments as good ones, and Rosaline feels oddly proud of Benvolio for daring to let himself have this little victory.

***

 

But of course, as Rosaline well knows, one little moment of triumph can't possibly make up for the amount of disdain Benvolio seems to be met with by his uncle, and even if Benvolio's mood seemed much improved after their impromptu pool party, this entire visit has to be difficult for him. And since he's been there when things have been difficult for her, Rosaline decides to repay the favour, forcing herself to push aside all thoughts of the kiss they shared this afternoon in the pool in order to be able to face him. She decided that they're friends no matter what happens on camera, and if he needs a friend right now, she'll be there.

After a tense dinner and only marginally less tense drinks with the two members of the Montague family – where's that fun-loving Montague cousin she's heard so much of when you need him, Rosaline wonders – they're finally allowed to go to bed, and Rosaline paces up and down her room until it seems reasonable to assume that everyone else has gone to bed.

Carefully, she slips out of her room and navigates down the hallway, trying to remember which room Benvolio said he was sleeping in. His uncle showed them his old bedroom, a deeply personal glimpse into Benvolio's childhood that of course the producers lapped up, and immediately suggested he sleep there instead of one of the guest bedrooms. Now all she has to do is remember where exactly that bedroom was...

Luckily, she finds the door in question without any false tries, and the person opening the door to her hesitant knock is indeed Benvolio, looking surprised for a moment and then immediately worried as he ushers her inside the room.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, really – I just wanted to check in.”

This doesn't get her a reply, and Rosaline uses the momentary silence to look around, trying to come up with a good way to approach the topic without being too intrusive.

The room is fairly spacious, with an elegant, muted décor that seems like an unusal choice for a young boy, but there are definite signs that one has lived here at some point – a few faded posters, a signed and framed jersey from one of the local sports teams, a row of action figurines on the windowsill. It's not much, but then, it must have been some time since Benvolio actually lived here.

“Must be strange, to be back in your childhood bedroom in the middle of all this.”

Oddly, this makes Benvolio laugh.

“Oh, this doesn't look anything like my old room – my uncle turned it into a guest bedroom the day after I moved out for college. He must have just found the box of my old stuff and have it set out again. Because isn't it heartwarming how he held on to the memories of my childhood here? I'm sure the show's fans will think so.” She isn't imagining it: There's definite bitterness in his voice. “I'm surprised he didn't throw all of that stuff out yet.”

He turns back to her, setting down the Captain America-figure he's been toying with to plop down on the bed.

“Really, Capulet, why _are_ you here? Want to make out some more?”

Rosaline doesn't rise to the taunt – she has a feeling it's nothing more than a defense mechanism, and that thought makes it easier to finally come out with what she came here for.

“Are you alright? You seemed… off, before."

"I…" for a moment, it seems like he'll brush her off and claim to be perfectly fine when she can tell he's not. For some reason, the thought bothers her.

"I wasn't ready for this."

Which means, obviously, that "this" is bad, because so far, he's been dealing pretty well with everything else on the show.

"Visiting your uncle?"

He nods.

"I thought there would be a family special like they had on the other seasons, where they'd bring in someone from my family to meet someone from the contestants' families."

Rosaline nods – that's the same thing she expected too.

"I asked Romeo to come in, and I thought that would be it. My uncle… My uncle was never supposed to get involved."

"He seems to be enjoying himself though," she comments, carefully.

"Oh, he is loving this. All this time to talk about the Montague family and all the great things he's been doing and the even greater things he's planning for the future – _my_ future…" He drifts off, absentmindedly drawing spirals in the thick carpet with his toe.

"I guess his plans don't exactly match your own?"

He laughs humourlessly.

"No, they don't. Not that my uncle gives a damn about that. The way he sees it, he's the one paying for my education, so he gets to decide what I do with that education."

With a deep breath, he finally turns to look at her.

"And I don't mean to sound ungrateful – I know how privileged I am. I know many other people would do anything for the opportunities I have. It's just… I don't see myself being happy with the plan he has for me."

He falls silent for a moment and Rosaline doesn't say anything, waits for him to finish his thought instead.

"And that's plan, _singular_ , because according to my uncle, there's only one way the rest of my life plays out."

He shudders, then smiles with sudden embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm being whiny right now…"

Rosaline shakes her head decidedly.

"You're not. _You_ should get to decide what you want to do with your life, and no one else."

He swallows hard, and she thinks she can see his eyes beginning to shine with moisture – apparently, this show can break anyone, even its own star. She wonders if bringing him here was the producers' revenge for his interference with the Helena situation, then decides that she's starting to get paranoid. After all, how could they have known about Benvolio's difficult relationship with his uncle?

She looks away quickly to give him some privacy, waits for him to gather himself – until something occurs to her.

"What _do_ you want to do, actually?"

He looks up, surprised and momentarily wary, as if there's a chance that her question is a trap. Then he seems to decide it isn't.

"I'd love to be an illustrator. You know – magazines, posters… maybe children's books."

That actually surprises her – for all his talk of how much he loves art and drawing, for all the that it's clear that a lot of practice and work goes into his illustrations for the _Gazette_ , Rosaline somehow still always assumed it was nothing more than a hobby. She didn't know he actually wants to make a career out of it.

"Hence the cartoons for the Gazette."

"It's good practice."

“And a good way to build up your portfolio, have something to show potential clients later on,” she suggests – since she decided that she wanted to pursue writing, Rosaline has been planning to do the same thing, get as many articles published as possible in the _Gazette_ so she'll have something to show later even without attending a prestigious writing course.

Benvolio seems taken aback by her matter-of-fact suggestion – or rather, she realises, by the fact that she's taking him seriously in the first place. But after a moment, it seems this exact attitude helps him open up even more.

“My uncle of course thinks it's a ridiculous idea. For him, the only things that count are money and power, and there's not much of either in my “little doodles”, as he calls them.”

“I know he does.”

Benvolio lifts his head, surprised, and Rosaline explains.

“I overheard the two of you talking, earlier. I didn't mean to, but... Well, I got curious. And I'm sorry. For eavesdropping, and for what he said to you.”

She expects him to get angry, and rightfully, for overhearing his private humiliation – but when Benvolio replies, he only sounds resigned.

“It wasn't the first time he said stuff like that,” he confirms what she suspected earlier. “It's pretty much the same old song over and over again – I'm useless, I'm not contributing to the family by making influential connections or having a high-end job lined up yet... I'm used to it by now.”

Rosaline feels almost sick at his words. It was bad enough to hear his uncle abuse him like this – but to hear him repeat that same abuse, with a voice that suggests he's resigned himself to it, is much worse somehow.

“You shouldn't be _used_ to it! _No one_ should be told things like that. And they're lies – you know that, right? You're not useless. You _do_ have something to offer besides his money. And your drawings aren't just silly little doodles. They're beautiful, and you have a real shot at making a living from them. So your uncle isn't just an asshole, he's also wrong.”

The moment the words are out, Rosaline freezes, realising just what she said – and how much she meant it. That was nothing short of an impassioned speech, and while it was certainly something Benvolio deserved to hear, it's not something she intended to _tell_ him. She's done quite a bit of revising on her opinion of him, yes, and she would no longer maintain that he really is the brainless, self-absorbed playboy she thought he was when they first met. But it's a far cry from tolerating his presence and appreciating his help to telling him that she's been thinking of what exactly he has to offer a woman, and she expects him to latch on to that particular slip-up any moment now, a wonderful opportunity to tease her some more.

But instead, his voice goes very quiet when he asks:

“You like my drawings?”

And she understands: He doesn't believe her, doesn't let himself believe a word of her little speech because he spent too much time being told the opposite. It breaks her heart all over again.

“Yes. I think your style is very unique, and you're obviously talented.” And just to make sure he really gets it, she adds: “I even like what you did at the bodypainting date. The flower you did for me looked very pretty, and the van Gogh was certainly creative.”

She holds his gaze and he finally seems to believe her on this one point at least, a smile breaking out on his face and quickly turning into a satisfied smirk, and she knows the next time he opens his mouth it will be to gloat.

“And you're not going to get me to repeat this to anyone else. But I do mean it.”

“I don't even need you to repeat it,” he says as he leans back into the fluffy pillow at his back, crossing his arms behind his head in an irritatingly smug show of satisfaction. “It's enough to know that I got you, _Rosaline Capulet_ , to sing my praises.”

“I didn't...”

In a flash, he's sitting up again, cutting her off with a finger on her lips.

“No take-backs. You said what you said.”

Yes, Rosaline thinks, he's back to his old annoying ways – but she still much prefers those to the way she saw him this afternoon after talking to his uncle, to the way he looked earlier, on the verge of tears.

He's also, she notices, still leaning forward across the bed, still looking at her intently – and still pressing his finger to her lips. And suddenly, it's not a “Benvolio-being-annoying”-thing anymore, it's something else entirely, something that makes her lean forward too, lips parting slightly...

And Benvolio pulls back, his hand dropping back onto the comforter.

“Well,” he says, then clears his throat, “I know what I can blackmail you with from now on.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes, exaggerating on purpose, and then gets up.

“You're impossible.”

But he's doing better, she thinks, and that's all that counts.

A part of her mind is also thinking, randomly, of the way he kissed her, earlier in the pool – but that had nothing to do with _this_ , so there's no point thinking about it now.

“I'm going back to my room. Clearly, you're doing fine.”

He doesn't reply anything to that, and they both know he's not entirely fine just yet – but maybe, she hopes, she managed to make him feel a little better, and a little better prepared to put up with his uncle's needling tomorrow.

And as if he had heard her thoughts, heard the lingering worry that she stuck her nose in things that are none of her business, Benvolio speaks up once again before she's reached the door.

“Capulet? Thank you.”

His voice is quiet, peaceful once more, and Rosaline lets it lull her into a sense of security that makes her leave the room with a little smile on her face – and that, seconds later, turns out to be false.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The absolute best thing about writing multichapter modern AUs for these two is that I get a chance to finally let them just talk to each other - and boy am I using that chance in this fic!   
> Also, yes, I used "Capulet, are you plotting something" again because it's just so darned cute and I want you all to imagine Benvolio's face when he says it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the opposite of the last chapter - short and mostly plot-irrelevant. But there's a guest appearance in here that I think you'll enjoy.  
> Also, this chapter includes a brief, non-detailed reference to death (canon, no major characters). It's not graphic but it comes a little out of nowhere, so I thought I'd mention it.

The moment Rosaline opens the door to leave Benvolio's room, she's assaulted by bright lights and a microphone in her face and someone shouting questions at her.  
  
"Rosaline, what is the meaning of this? Is something going on between you and Benvolio? Have you been visiting him before? Are things heating up between the two of you?"  
  
Rosaline can only stand there like a deer caught in the headlights, trying to understand what's happening: The crew must have found out about her sneaking into Benvolio's room and waited to catch her leaving it - to build up a torrid story of the two of them carrying on a secret affair, no doubt.  
  
"No, I'm not… We aren't…", she stammers, only to break off again. If she denies visiting him because there's something romantic going on between them, the obvious next question will be of course: Why _is_ she visiting him then? And the real answer to that can not come out yet.  
  
She's still grasping around for a good excuse when the door opens fully and Benvolio steps out behind her.  
  
"Guys, come on, there's no need to jump her like this. Rosaline… we…"  
  
Rosaline tenses, afraid he'll do the very thing she was just trying to avoid and accidentally reveal the truth behind her visit: That she came to check on him, as a friend, because he wasn't doing so great and she feels responsible for bringing him here. By the show's logic, that would probably be even more shocking than any kind of secret tryst.  
  
"We think we could have a real connection, and I asked Rosaline to come by so we could have a chance to be alone for a bit. I know it's against the rules but...", He lays an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side, and Rosaline barely manages not to elbow him in the ribs in shock. "Can you blame me?"  
  
And then he actually presses a kiss to her temple, to complete the impression of the besotted lover caught in flagranti, and Rosaline has to admit that, mortifying as it may be, it's a good way to cover up their tracks.  
  
She leans into Benvolio's side and snakes her arm around his waist, smiling sheepishly.  
  
"I guess we weren't as sneaky as we thought."  
  
Of course, the producer is delighted by that, a juicy little surprise that will definitely make it into the next episode.  
  
"So, how long has this been going on? And of course," she leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially, as if her question wouldn't be picked up by the mic anyway, "what exactly _has_ been going on?"  
  
Rosaline tries to escape the answer by giggling and shyly hiding her face in Benvolio's shoulder, but the producer is not letting up: She keeps looking at them expectantly, microphone thrust into their faces.  
  
"We only talked," Benvolio claims, naively hoping that the crew will believe him and leave it at that.  
  
They don't.  
  
"Of course you did," the producer replies with patronising mildness. "So, how long have you been… talking?"  
  
"Seriously, we really were…", Benvolio begins, but Rosaline can tell he's not going to get the producers to believe him anyway. They might as well use their overactive imagination to their own advantage.  
  
Before he can finish his attempted denial, Rosaline turns Benvolio towards her and cuts him off with a finger on his lips, just like he did to her only minutes ago.  
  
"Now, come on - you promised you'd be a gentleman if we ever got caught, remember? And a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." She lowers her voice seductively, because at this point, if she's going to let people believe that there's something steamy going on between them, she's going to really make them believe it.  
  
Luckily, Benvolio catches on. Leaning closer into her, he smiles and lowers his voice, just enough so that the mic will still pick it up but also suggest it wasn't meant to be heard by anyone else but her; the intimate little whispers between lovers.  
  
"I did promise that, didn't I?" He holds her gaze for a moment, remains close enough so that it wouldn't be much of a stretch to lean in and actually kiss her - then he draws back to address the crew once more. "There you go - sorry, but you're not getting anything out of me anymore. So I think we should all go to bed now." He grins cheekily. "And I promise, we'll actually try and stay in our own beds this time."  
  
He squeezes her shoulder once more then gently steps away, his signal for her to go back to her room, she assumes – but not without one more command for the camera team.  
  
“And no pestering Rosaline on the way back to her room, alright? It really wasn't her idea.”  
  
The producer smirks in a way that suggests she doesn't think that absolves Rosaline at all – because why miss out on a perfectly good opportunity to slut-shame a contestant? – but to Rosaline's surprise, when she sets off down the hallway, none of the crew follow her, remaining behind instead to pester Benvolio some more, despite his supposed stance against kissing and telling. Rosaline feels momentarily bad for leaving him alone with them – but he did practically tell her to leave, right?  
  
She looks back once more before turning the corner, watching Benvolio gesture animatedly as he talks to the producers. He'll handle them, she decides, and quietly slips away.  


***

Rosaline wakes up the next morning with dread already filling her stomach: She doesn't know what exactly the producers are going to make of last night's salacious little discovery – but she's sure they'll do _something_ with it, and she's not looking forward to finding out how that will play out.  
  
But when she emerges from her room, after carefully putting on the most subtle make-up and choosing her most conservative outfit, Rosaline is surprised to find no one camped outside of it. No one jumps her with a camera when she enters the dining-room for breakfast. All throughout the day, she gets exactly as much attention as all the other contestants. And, most startlingly of all: No one brings up last night. Not in one of her daily interviews, not as a shocking reveal in front of the other contestants, and not even as a passing mention on the side. Not a single word is being said about the fact that she got caught sneaking out of "Mister Right's" bedroom last night, and by lunchtime, Rosaline is thoroughly freaked out about it.  
  
Because that silence can only mean that they're saving the footage in order to make a really big deal out of it at some point, and Rosaline spends the afternoon growing increasingly jumpy as she waits for them to drop the bomb.  
  
It doesn't help that the plan for today is for the contestants to have individual talks with Benvolio's uncle, presumably about their suitability as a future Mrs. Montague. Spontaneously inciting a pool party yesterday probably did not endear her to the older Montague, and Rosaline does not expect the conversation to be a pleasant one.  
  
But to her surprise, when she enters the “salon” -  yes, that was actually what it was called during yesterday's tour – Rosaline is not greeted by Damiano Montague alone. The patriarch is there, of course, sitting stone-faced on a high-backed antique chair. But next to him, there's a much friendlier face to provide a warm welcome after all: A smiling young man who immediately jumps to his feet and practically bounces over towards her.  
  
“Rosaline, finally! I couldn't wait to meet you – it looks like you've pulled quite a number on my dear cousin!”  
  
And before she knows what's happening, the one-man greeting committee has pulled her into an enthusiastic hug.  
  
Behind him, Damiano Montague curls his lips in a derisive sneer, but Rosaline chooses to ignore him for the moment and focus on his much friendlier son. Because that's who the young man has to be: Benvolio's cousin Romeo, the one he talks about with such fond exasperation.  
  
The cousin in question lets go of her now, and his father gestures towards the sofa next to his chair.  
  
“Please, sit.” It's an order, not an invitation, and Rosaline, still haunted by the thought of what the producers will show of her in the next episode, follows it without protest.  
  
“So, Rosaline – what is it that you do? When you're not starting pool parties, that is.” There's a smile meant to indicate the remark as mere teasing, but it's as cold as the voice saying it.  
  
“I'm a law student.”  
  
It's not a lie – thinking about changing course and actually doing it are two different things after all, so Rosaline has decided that as long as she's still officially enrolled in law school, that's what she'll state in the interviews. When they prepared for the show, the team and Rosaline unanimously decided it would be best not to mention her interest in journalism, so law is the official story she sticks with – with the added bonus that the producers probably thought it would work well with her straightlaced, uptight image. She'd think it would also successfully endear her to Benvolio's uncle – but based on his less-than-warm welcome, she isn't sure anything will accomplish that.  
  
“That's quite a challenging career. Have you thought about how you'll manage when you get married?”  
  
Ah, that's where he's going here – some good, old-fashioned “women belong in the kitchen”-type misogyny. But she doesn't want to be impolite, so for now, Rosaline just pretends not to get his not-so-subtle nod to the patriarchy.  
  
“I don't really see what getting married has to do with my major?”  
  
“Well, nothing yet, I suppose. But you'll want to have a family someday, children. Most law careers don't tend to be very family-friendly.”  
  
“That is true, sadly. We still have a long way to go there. But I think with a supportive husband, I should definitely be able to juggle my career and a family.”  
  
Damiano, she can see, is getting irritated by her persistent calm – which makes it at least a little bit bearable to ignore her burning desire to tell him what exactly she thinks of his gender politics.  
  
“You realise that having a family requires sacrifices, I hope.”  
  
“I'm well aware of that. And I'm willing to make those sacrifices for my partner's happiness, just as I expect the same of him.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Damiano says, jeering sarcasm in his voice.  
  
Rosaline chooses to ignore it, vapid smile firmly in place. Seeing him so obviously disapprove of everything she says is frankly very gratifying – the last person she'd want to please is someone like him.  
  
“When did you decide to go into law then?”  
  
So at least one member of this family has actual manners, Rosaline thinks at Romeo's interjection. But even though she likes him a hell of a lot more than his father, her smile remains strained.    
  
“I can't quite pinpoint it, really.”  
  
It's a blatant lie – she knows exactly when she decided that she wanted to go into law, become a judge or a prosecutor: When the man who killed her parents in a hit-and-run was let go, spared his punishment because incompetent prosecutors had failed to properly collect and present the evidence. That was the day she decided to go into law, to make sure no family would ever go through that same pain again. It was a little naive, perhaps – but it was what kept her going, after her whole world was turned upside down.  
  
Of course, she has no intention of saying any of that in front of a camera.  
  
“So, what area of the law do you want to go into?”  
  
“Criminal, actually.”  
  
“Criminal? Surely corporate law would be more rewarding,” Damiano interjects.  
  
“How could anything be more rewarding than bringing justice to the world?”  
  
“Financially rewarding, I mean. Although I guess with the right husband, you'll be free to choose a career without regarding the financial benefits.”  
  
The hint is not subtle: He thinks she's a gold-digger, interested in Benvolio only for his family money.  
  
“Or with the right attitude – personally, my goal is to find a job that is both rewarding and grants me financially stablility, no matter what my husband does.”  
  
There – she may not owe it to him to defend herself, but she won't pass up the opportunity to make her position clear for the audience.    
  
“I think it's great!”, Romeo once again enters into the conversation, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. The youngest Montague is either a skilled diplomat, or blissfully naive when it comes to his father. “I mean, bringing justice to the world? That has got to be the best life goal ever.”  
  
The words are followed by another of those bright smiles, and Rosaline suddenly realises why it looked so familiar before: It's a smile she's seen on Benvolio's face too, and that speaks of the same capacity to be happy for others.  
  
“But enough about work. Let's talk about what we're all dying to find out”, he sits down next to her on the sofa to lean in close and lower his voice for a stage-whisper: “Does Benvolio have what it takes to become your "Mister Right"?”  
  
The question stuns her for a moment – not because of its subject matter, but because of the way it is posed: The entire show is centered on the idea of the contestants competing to win over their "Mister Right". No one seems to even consider the possibility that he would have to do some winning over as well – on the contrary, it seems like a given that of course everyone would fall over themselves for Benvolio with no more effort from him than paying them the slightest bit of attention. Romeo is the first person to at least allow for the possibility that it might not be quite that easy.  
  
Which leaves Rosaline with three options for how to proceed: She can do what she's done so far, and spew some empty lines about what a great guy he is – and if it were only Damiano here, that's exactly what she would do. But it feels wrong to lie to someone as genuine as Romeo, especially if he cares as much about his cousin as Benvolio seems to care about him. For a moment, she entertains the thought of telling him what she really thinks: That, if nothing else, she can honestly say about Benvolio that he's sweet and funny – when he's not being obnoxious, that is – and most of all _kind_ , and those are all qualities she can admit she appreciates in a man.  
  
And then, out of nowhere, her stupid brain simply refuses to stop at that very respectable list, and decides to come up with a few more things she might appreciate in him: Things like the way his hair feels under her fingertips, soft and thick, or the contrast between his different kinds of kisses – soft and searching the night she came to him and they ended up "practicing", harsh and demanding the other day in the pool...  
  
Beside her, Romeo clears his throat, indicating that he's still waiting for her answer – and making her realize just how far away her thoughts carried her just now. To thoughts of Benvolio Montague's hair, of all things!  
  
She really needs to pull herself together.  
  
Instead of starting to list things she might like about Benvolio, real or made up, Rosaline smiles coyly – a woman with a secret, flirting with her audience while she decides if she's ready to disclose it.  
  
“I'm still here, aren't I?”  
  
“I'll tell Benvolio he still has some work to do then,” Romeo laughs. “Because that does _not_ sound  like you're all that impressed with him yet.”  
  
Well, that was not the effect she wanted her words to have – her mission is to make people believe she's crazy about "Mister Right", after all.     
  
“I'd say it sounds like his chances are good.”  
  
“I'll pass that on as well then,” Romeo concludes with a wink.

Next to them, Damiano claps his hands, startling them both.  
  
“Great. And now that we've established there's hope yet for my nephew to settle down, I think we're out of time.”  
  
There's no indication that they are, but Damiano's tone is conclusive. Rosaline gets to her feet, forcing herself to smile at his abrupt dismissal with yet more forced politeness.  
  
“Of course. It's been a pleasure talking to you.” Another lie – but perhaps she can balance it out by at least being honest to the one person in the room who deserves it.  
  
When she turns to Romeo, her smile is once again real.  
  
“And it's been great getting to know you. Benvolio has told me about you – it sounds like you're like a little brother to him.”    
  
“Ah, he's just a big sap.”  
  
But Romeo looks visibly pleased, and Rosaline leaves the room feeling quite good about herself too. Meeting just one nice person to have one agreeable conversation with may be a low bar for a successful day, but it's better than nothing – and it did distract her from endlessly obsessing over what exactly the producers intend to do with last night's footage.

 

***

Granted, the moment she's out of the spotlight again, Rosaline returns to that same obsession, torturing herself with the thought of the juicy scandal she provided the producers with and the question of what they'll do with it. By the time they've said their goodbyes to Benvolio's family to fly back to the mansion, Rosaline is once again all nerves.     
  
But she has to be careful about talking to Benvolio without being overheard, and it's only when they're in the air and everyone is asleep that Rosaline finally gets a chance. The fact that Benvolio was asleep too is unfortunate, and she does feel a little bit bad about waking him up when she knows he didn't get all that much sleep last night - but she knows she'll go mad if she doesn't get a chance to talk to him soon.  
  
Luckily, the seat next to Benvolio's is empty, and after one more look around to make sure no one is watching, she sits down next to him and shakes him awake.  
  
“Benvolio! I need to talk to you.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Take a guess,” Rosaline replies sarcastically, a little harsh perhaps considering that he was just torn from sleep, and she takes pity on him and explains. “No one brought up what happened last night. Do you know something about that? Are they holding it back for later, to make some big reveal of it?”  
  
For a moment, Benvolio is only blinking sleepily, and his voice when he finally replies is slow and rough with sleep.  
  
“They're not going to talk about it. And they're not going to air that footage either.”  
  
“What? Why on earth not?” Rosaline has trouble wrapping her head around that, already coming up with different, even worse ways the producers could use last night's footage against her. “Are they going to use it later? Drop a bombshell during the finale maybe?”  
  
Benvolio sits up a little straighter and shakes his head, the softness of sleep suddenly chased away by a hard expression.  
  
“They're not going to use it at all.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“Because I told them that if they did, I'd walk off the show.”  
  
Rosaline almost laughs out loud at this – does he seriously expect his empty threat to work on the producers?  
  
But then she takes another look at him, the hard line of his mouth and the unflinching stare that goes with the words, and Rosaline understands it's not an empty threat at all: Benvolio means it, and the producers know.  
  
And then just as suddenly as it appeared, that flash of steel is gone again, and Benvolio yawns widely and slumps back into his seat, eyes already drifting shut again.  
  
“Is that all then? Because in case you hadn't noticed, I was sleeping.”  
  
Rosaline looks at him incredulously for a moment, trying to decide what to think. On the one hand, Benvolio found a way to resolve a problem she herself was completely powerless to tackle, and she's definitely thankful. On the other hand, she's been agonising over this all day – and he couldn't find a single moment to tell her there's no need to worry? She can't help but be a little irritated by that.  
  
And then, most irritating of all, there's the thought that occurs to her once she's back in her seat and randomly remembers her earlier conversation with his cousin: For a moment, with determination flashing in his eyes as he promised her she'd have nothing to fear, Rosaline actually did think that Benvolio looked pretty impressive.  
  
That's it, Rosaline decides, slumping down in her seat with a frustrated groan: No more thinking until she's had some sleep herself. _Especially_ not about Benvolio.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little conflicted about putting in Rosaline and Livia's tragic family backstory, because it seems so much more brutal in a modern setting - but her background still sort of relies on not having her parents' support, so I had to.  
> Also, I know Rosaline is a badass who can handle herself - but I still can't resist letting Benvolio play her knight in shining armour every once in a while.


	13. Chapter 13

"That... Did not go great." Juliet slides down in her chair, letting out a defeated huff. "Although I guess it doesn't really matter," she has to remind herself, "since Rosaline's not really trying to win."

"Although if she was, she'd have just won a major battle."

"Are you serious? His uncle hates her!"

Mercutio grins.

"Exactly. Which is a definite plus in Benvolio's book."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Benvolio and his uncle... They don't exactly have the easiest relationship. Watching her go up against the great Damiano Montague and win? That's bound to be a turn-on."

Julie wrinkles her nose at the choice of words - but Mercutio isn't done with his assessment of the situation yet.

"Plus, Romeo loves her. Which you bet he told Benvolio right away. He's probably planning their wedding as we speak."

"He's the hopeless romantic?"

"Yup. The worst."

Juliet tilts her head to the side, watching as on the screen, Romeo welcomes another one of the contestants to their family meeting slash cross interrogation. The welcome isn't quite as enthusiastic as the one Rosaline received, she notices, but there's still that same warmth and friendliness there, made all the more apparent by the contrast with his father's stern expression.

"He really is cute."

"Told ya."

Mercutio grins as if it was his personal achievement that there are some seriously good genes in the Montague family, and Juliet rolls her eyes. If there's one thing she's learned from her cousin, it's to never let a man's ego get out of control.

Still, she's also not going to let pride get in the way of her love life - that's one of her cousin's habits she does not intend to copy.

"You're still setting up that date, right?

"Of course I am. Never let it be said that I stood in the way of true love."

"And that is why you're the best."

***

 

Quicker than Rosaline thought possible, the number of contestants have dwindled to a mere handful, and it's time for a beloved and much-discussed _Mister Right_ -tradition: The night in the Romance Suite, a lavishly decorated hotel suite where "Mister Right" gets to spend a night alone with a chosen contestant - with no cameras in the room. Of course, the first question that contestant has to answer the next morning is what, exactly, went on in the Romance Suite, with the inevitable result of being judged nationwide as either a slut, a prude, or a tease - these seem to be the only options.

Understandably, Rosaline is not crazy about the idea of being put in that position and having everyone she knows speculate about the kind of sordid things that are imagined to go on in the suite. So when everyone lines up to hear Benvolio's choice, Rosaline for once feels exactly as nervous as the others - but her imploring expression is pleading with him _not_ to pick her.

He chooses Stella, to Rosaline's great relief, and all Rosaline has to do for the rest of the evening is pretend to be upset about it for the interviews before she can simply go to bed and fulfil her own fantasy of a good night's sleep.

***

 

The next day, of course, everyone's biggest concern is the question of what exactly happened in the Romance Suite, which, in Rosaline's opinion, kind of defeats the purpose of not having any cameras in there in the first place. Both Benvolio and Stella are being tight-lipped about it, which Rosaline finds understandable. But for a few moments, she thinks she sees something else behind Benvolio's silence, a tension behind his practiced smile when he gives off some line about how "a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell". But it's gone as quickly as she thought it appeared, and Rosaline soon forgets all about it again.

Until, to her surprise, there's a knock on her door, much later that night. She wasn't really sleeping very deeply, mind too full with frustratingly aimless thoughts, and she quickly opens the door to find Benvolio outside.

As usual, he just pushes inside, and as usual, she lets him.

“What are you doing here? They're probably still patrolling the hallways, trying to catch us sneaking around again!”

“I know. That's why I waited so long. But I need to talk to you.”

“Aren't you busy enjoying your stud status?”

She doesn't entirely know why the words come out as harsh as they do, but she guesses it has something to do with the fact that she was forced to spend the entire day speculating for the cameras about just how much sex Benvolio Montague had in the Romance Suite, and she can certainly imagine better ways to spend a day.

“I multitask,” he deadpans, but when he sits down on the edge of her bed, Rosaline can see that not only does he not look amused, he looks... troubled. And before she can ask what's going on – because apparently, caring about how he's doing is a thing she does now – he blurts out:

“Capulet, I'm going to need to choose you on the final evening.”

“What?”, Rosaline shrieks. “What do you mean you're going to _choose_ me?”

“It means you'll be the last woman standing. The one who gets the ring and the declaration of love and the whole shebang. Congratulations!” He grins wryly, well aware that of all the women in the house, she's the only one who doesn't want any of those things.

“That was not the plan! The plan was for me to drop out as soon as I've done my research.”

“And where does that leave me?”

Rosaline can only stare at him, mouth opening and closing silently as it sinks in: They forgot to come up with an exit strategy for Benvolio.

“I don't know... can't you just... pretend to go through with it?”

“I know you think I'm a heartless bastard, but contrary to what you may believe, I don't _actually_ enjoy hurting people.”

Rosaline ponders the problem, too busy thinking about it to tell him that she doesn't think he's _that_ bad.

Well, not anymore.

“What about Stella? You said you liked her. And she definitely likes you.” Rosaline beams, relieved to have found a solution. But her elation doesn't take root in Benvolio.

“Yeah, I thought she did. But... I'm not sure if she really likes _me_ , or just the version of me the show is selling. The version my uncle wants to make of me.”

Briefly, selfishly, Rosaline considers telling him he's wrong, that Stella really likes him for him – but she can't bring herself to. With what she knows of the other woman, she's sure Stella could easily love “Benvolio Montague, Rising Star in the Montague Empire”. But “Benvolio Montague, Struggling Artist”? She isn't so sure about that.

"Besides, I don't even know how I feel about her. And I know it sounds stupid, but if I'm going to stand there and tell any woman I love her, I want to actually mean it.” He takes a deep breath, looking genuinely distressed now. “Please, Capulet, don't make me do this. We're in this together, right?”

She nods, slowly.

“Then I need you to come through for me and pretend you want to marry me.”

His voice is growing desperate in a way that is becoming harder to resist, but still Rosaline isn't sure this is the best idea. Pretending to flirt with him for the cameras is one thing – but accepting a _proposal_?

“Maybe there's another way out for you. I mean... are you allowed to say you didn't fall in love with any of the contestants?”

“Sure I am. They can't very well force me into a relationship against my will. But if I do that, I won't get the money.” He swallows hard, eyes flitting about nervously. “And I really need the money.”

The money is another thing Rosaline sort of forgot about: It's one of the show's worst-kept secrets that the lucky man getting cast as Mister Right not only gets a wife out of the deal, but also a 100.000 dollar paycheck - something that hadn't really seemed all that relevant to her story, other than as an incentive for men to come on the show who maybe aren't quite as serious about finding love as they claim to be. Clearly, that was the case for Benvolio - and with what she's learned about his family, she can't even blame him for that.

“For the illustrating business?”

He nods.

“This is my chance to break free from my uncle. I can use the money to start a freelancing business, maybe even pay off my tuition debt... Then he has nothing left to hold over me.”

There's such longing written all over his face and woven into his voice when she says it that Rosaline can't possibly deny him. He wants his freedom, and she can help him get it. There's really nothing to decide here.

“Alright.”

It doesn't immediately sink in with him that she already said yes.

“And of course, we'd split the money... Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” She doesn't allow herself to enjoy it when the relief on his face turns into gratitude, and then the smallest of smiles. “You're only in this situation because of my article. It wouldn't be fair of me to leave you hanging.” She flashes him a grin. “But I'll take that money.”

She does have student loans to pay off, after all.

Benvolio lets out a relieved breath, then just flops back onto her bed as if all strength had been drained from his body, legs dangling comically over the edge because it's a queensize but it's still not big enough for him to stretch out on it sideways. His head ends up propped up on her outstretched leg, just above her knee, and she startles momentarily at the contact but doesn't push him away.

“You know, I thought this would be easier,” he muses, staring idly at the ceiling, and Rosaline knows exactly what he's feeling. What surprises her is how comforting it feels to be reminded that they share this experience.

“So did I.”

He doesn't reply and Rosaline doesn't add anything; doesn't feel like she needs to. They don't need to explain – the important thing is that they're both in the same situation.

They're not alone.

They sit - or, in Benvolio's case, sprawl - in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts but comforted by the fact that no matter what happens next, they're not alone.

“We didn't, you know.”

Benvolio's statement breaks the silence with not nearly enough context, so Rosaline waits for him to provide a little more information.

“Have sex. Stella and I, in the Romance Suite – we didn't have sex. We made out a little and talked a little and that was basically it.”

“You don't have to explain yourself.”

“I know I don't _have_ to, Capulet. But I'd like to talk about it to the one person in here who actually believes me. So.”

“Alright.”

She could leave it at that – he wanted to talk about it, she listened. That should be enough, right? But now that he's already brought it up...

“Did you want to? Sleep with her...?”

There's a moment of silence before he replies, and the way it stretches on irritates her for some reason.

“I don't know. I mean, she's beautiful, obviously. But when I thought about it, it just... didn't feel right.”

“Oh.”

Rosaline isn't entirely sure why she asked in the first place, and she's definitely not sure what to do with the answer.

“You could always reach out to her after the show is over, try and give things a shot without our little secret standing in the way.”

“Yeah,” he says, hesitant, “I could always do that."

He falls silent, lets it stretch on for a moment before he adds:

"It might take some explaining though – she was already not amused about the fact that we've been sneaking around. I'm not sure how well she'll take finding out what else I've been lying to her about."

"She knew about that?"

After Benvolio told her he'd blackmailed the producers into not using the footage from last night, Rosaline had thought, perhaps naively, that that would be the last she'd hear of it. But of course, just because the producers have agreed not to use the footage of her sneaking around with “Mister Right” doesn't mean they can't use the knowledge – and clearly, they did.

“The producers told her about it, tried to start drama and get her to do something crazy. They could not resist the chance to blow the whole thing up into this big love triangle. I'm sure they'll try the same thing with you, now that I've taken her to the Romance Suite."

"Of course they will."

Rosaline sighs, suddenly feeling even more tired of the whole thing. When they came up with this plan, they completely underestimated how much of a toll it would take to keep lying to everyone around them, how likely it is that they'll end up actually hurting someone.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, and Benvolio turns his head to look at her quizzically. "For putting you into this position. You know, having to lie to someone when you're trying to have a future with them."

"I'm not sure we would have had a future, you know. Not the future I would have wanted. And I don't regret it, coming here."

As much of a relief as it is to hear, Rosaline finds this hard to believe.

"I upended your entire life by dragging you here."

"You didn't _drag_ me here. It was my decision to come along. And like I said: I don't regret it. I've learned a lot. About television and sexism and even a little about myself, I think."

Another little pause, one that seems to be him making a decision on where to take this conversation from here.

"Plus, I got to make out with a bunch of beautiful women."

Rosaline stifles a laugh and jerks up her knee to make his head bounce - fit punishment for the sleazy remark.

"Relax, Capulet - I meant of course that I got to enjoy the company of several upstanding women, in the most chaste and respectful manner."

"You're the worst."

"Come on, I must have grown on you at least a little bit."

Rosaline drags out her reply for a moment – this kind of cheek does not need to be encouraged – before she finally relents.

"Maybe a little."

It was meant to be a light remark, with only the slightest smile to indicate that she means it. But the words come out slower and more earnestly than intended, and suddenly time itself seems to slow down along with them, seemingly for the sole purpose of allowing her to miss not a single detail of the way his face lights up in response. It's oddly powerful for such a little change – powerful enough to send a surge of warmth through her limbs, start a flutter in her stomach.

Rosaline leans back against the headboard, letting her eyes slide shut – because Benvolio is still looking at her, and somehow, continuing to look back seems dangerous.

She doesn't entirely understand the feeling – but then, it _is_ very late.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaack! I was a little distracted with Christmas and writing Rosvolio Christmas fluff, but now I'm getting this story back on track. With a million thanks to @unwrittenmusings for letting me yell at her about plot (plot and I are not friends) and helping me with the general words-aspect of this fic.

When Rosaline applied to be on "Mister Right", it was with the singleminded focus of a woman on a mission. All her research about the show was filtered through that lens, and all the pictures of exotic locations, romantic tête-à-têtes and adrenaline-fuelled outings failed to have any effect on her – with one exception: When her application was first accepted, the letter came with a brochure, full of glossy pictures of the last seasons' finale settings, and for just a few moments of weakness, Rosaline allowed herself to daydream about those locations: Floating in the turquoise ocean on a Tahitian beach, visiting a vineyard in South Africa or taking a helicopter ride over a mountain range in New Zealand - all of those were things she might look forward to, should she progress far enough in the season.

She told herself that the network would have to make the show look glamorous and exciting - contestants would have to take weeks off work, spend thousands of dollars on camera-ready clothes, and be ready to, well, go through everything that being on the show entails. But even knowing that the pamphlet was a marketing ploy and nothing else, after watching the other seasons' finales play out against a backdrop of beautiful tropical beaches and breathtaking mountain vistas, it got to her, a little bit.

Rosaline couldn't even remember the last time she went on a trip to the beach – her life since graduation has basically consisted entirely of work and school and putting up with her family's demands. So, for just one moment of weakness, she imagined actually getting to go to such a tropical paradise, if only for a few days of shooting (and with the Montague for company, which kind of soured the prospect a little bit, back then). 

But over the course of the show, that brief burst of daydreaming has been completely buried and Rosaline's entire goal slimmed down to this one mantra: Make it through. Make it through the show with some self-respect left, and then get revenge with a scathing, brilliant, brutally honest article. With the exception of a few bright flashes, that's what her world has narrowed down to: Make. It. Through.

But when the producers gather Benvolio and his meager little troupe of leftover contestants – Rosaline, Stella, and one other girl – to announce their next destination, even Rosaline can't help but gasp in awe. 

Because the destination for the finale is...

“Italy!”, the host announces, and for once, Rosaline reacts with the same open-mouthed incredulousness she always thought was fake on the other contestants' faces.

“Italy!”, she whispers, awed, and when her eyes find Benvolio to confirm, he's already looking at her, smiling brightly and nodding in answer to her unspoken question.

Italy has always been at the top of Rosaline's list of places she's been dying to see – a place it has held with a certain melancholy note, because as the place where her parents famously met and fell in love, it has become the stuff of legends in her family. She remembers staring longingly at the black-and-white photographs her mother took during that trip; grandiose churches and quaint piazzas and rolling vineyards, blown up and framed on the walls of her childhood home. She remembers her father's stories, of standing in front of centuries-old ruins and feeling incredibly, awe-inspiringly small and insignificant. And now she's going to see it for herself, the land her parents fell in love with while they fell in love with each other.

Of course, even while Rosaline is swept up remembering her parents' epically romantic story, the show is doing its darnedest to destroy any and all such romantic notions: Just after they've announced the dream destination the two finalists will get to visit, they also remind them that this means one contestant will not get to go, which leaves Benvolio with the unenviable task of breaking the news to that unlucky contestant.

Watching him, Rosaline wonders for the first time how these evenings must feel for him. The show always sells „Mister Right's“ part as a dream come true: Having 25 women vie for his affection and getting to pick the hottest, most adoring one for the honour of being with him in the end. Based on her earlier prejudices, she would have thought Benvolio would absolutely love being the center of attention and object of everyone's desires, and he certainly seemed to have his fun with it. But now that she knows him, Rosaline can easily see how much he hates having to send one contestant off, hates seeing her tears and wondering how much of it is for the cameras and how much of it due to forming an actual attachment to him.

But there's not much time to ponder this now, because as soon as the unlucky third is sent off, they're told to pack their things, and soon they're off to the airport. To Italy!

They head to Milan first, a long flight but one she thinks has got to be worth it – as long as she doesn't think about the economics of flying a crew of 40 people to Italy for a two-day shoot. It's a breathtaking waste of money – but damn if she's not glad to be part of it!

Unfortunately, for the first day, she doesn't really seem to be a part of it after all: Benvolio takes Stella on a one-on-one date to go shopping – they are in Milan, after all – and Rosaline is left behind in her hotel room, with the TV deactivated to keep up the show's imposed media fast. Which would not really be a problem, since she could always spend the day napping in preparation of whatever the producers are planning next. But she's spent the entire flight asleep, to Benvolio's great amusement, and now that she's in Italy, she would like to actually see something of the country.

But by the time a producer tells her to get ready to go out, it's late in the afternoon, and Rosaline is grumpy. She arrives at the meeting-point, a chic cocktail bar near the Duomo, in a sparkly cocktail dress Juliet somehow snuck into her bag and with a frown that only deepens when she sees Benvolio and Stella, waiting for her near the bar.

They're both dressed to the nines, and they look absolutely perfect together. If ever a woman was made to fill the role life has so clearly intended for the wife of a Montague offspring, it was her, dressed in a satiny slip dress that looks like it was painted onto her body and standing next to a pile of shopping bags and boxes imprinted with luxury brands, which Rosaline is sure the producers dragged here for the sole purpose of having her react with jealousy.

And yet, she remembers, that's not the life Benvolio wants. So what should it matter if Stella seems to fit it to a T?

And, she adds belatedly, what does any of it matter, once the show is over and she has her article?

But the thought fails to motivate her as much as it usually does. Rosaline has been thinking about that article during every minute she wasn't busy pretending to fall in love with a Montague without completely losing her dignity, weighing which parts to include and how best to make it clear that the entire show is a product of manipulation, lies, and abuse. And it's a good thing she did, because in order for the article to have the biggest impact, she'll have to publish it right after the finale has aired, which means she'll have about three days to write it. It's definitely necessary to start planning it, if only in her head.

But tonight, uncharacteristically, Rosaline is sick of always thinking about something she has to do, some big project or important exam to work towards. For one moment, she wants to actually feel the way all those dreamy dates look like on tv, carefree and adventurous.

And after all, she tells herself, the editors have two options of how to play her trip to Italy: As an emotionally fraught love triangle, with her as the unhappy third wheel to Stella and Benvolio - or as the moment stuck-up Rosaline came out of her shell and lived a little.

She knows which option sounds a lot more fun, not to mention she won't give the producers the satisfaction of showing her as the jealous reject. She'll simply have to allow herself to stop thinking about that article and her future career choices for two days and enjoy every second of her trip, to spite the producers if nothing else.

And when Benvolio looks up with a smile and waves enthusiastically for her to come over, something inside her whispers that she made the right choice.

But the producers, not content with simply letting them have fun, announce halfway through dinner that Benvolio will have to send one of them home after dessert, and the rest of the meal is a painfully awkward affair. To the producers' clear dismay, however, they fail to get the jealous scene they were no doubt hoping for by springing this on them. Stella and Rosaline are both trying to keep their composure and save face no matter what happens - resulting in a lot of forced cheerfulness directed at an increasingly uncomfortable Benvolio. When it's time for him to make his choice, Rosaline feels sorry for him for being used as the catalyst for the expected drama.

"Stella, I hate having to do this. We've spent an amazing day together - but it would feel really unfair to Rosaline to send her back already. I hope you understand."

It's a sensible choice, of course - if they want people not to get suspicious when Benvolio chooses her during the finale, they have to show him actually favoring her over Stella. But even though he told her he doesn't really see a future with Stella, Rosaline can't help but wonder if Benvolio doesn't still feel like he's losing out on something.

Stella takes the dismissal with a grace that will no doubt inspire the viewers' sympathy, leaning in to kiss Benvolio goodbye just long enough to leave an impression without seeming desperate. If the show wasn't rigged from the beginning, Rosaline is pretty sure she'd win it, honestly. Nonetheless, Stella is sent off with the producers' transparent intention to make her departure as humiliating as possible, struggling under the weight of her shopping bags. But when Benvolio offers to help her carry them outside, the producers tell him to stay put, and he sits back down with an expression that suggests he's struggling to keep his cool.

Benvolio's tension remains even after they're carted to a club, huge and glitzy and seemingly frequented entirely by models and international soccer stars. The producers are starting to get antsy, she can tell, and as soon as Benvolio leaves their table in the VIP section to get them both a drink (as if the producers couldn't just have drinks magically appear on the table if they wanted to) and one of them immediately pounces.

"He picked you, Rosaline! Isn't that great?“

Rosaline wants to point out that Benvolio very clearly stated that he picked her out of fairness, but the producer's faked excitement can't be stopped.

"This is your chance to show him how great you are. Who knows - if you make enough of an impression tonight, you might influence his final choice in your favor."

"Make an impression how?" She's pretty sure she knows, to be honest - but Rosaline wants to know what exactly the producers are angling for so she can make a strategy of her own.

"I mean, I don't want to push you into anything, but physically you've been pretty withholding so far. And hey, I get it - you don't want to give away too much too soon. But we're almost down to the final rose, and he's already taken Stella to the Romance Suite. We don't know exactly what happened there, of course, but probably a lot more than a few chaste little pecks. So maybe you should give him a little taste of what you've got, too, just so he doesn't feel like he's buying the cat in the bag if he chooses you."

Rosaline nods along, pretending to listen intently while she's mostly trying not to gag.

"I see. So you think I should..." It feels ridiculous, pretending to be this thick, but she's trying to see if she can get the producer to drop the cheekily vague little allusions and say what she really wants her to provide: Sex or drama or both.

But the producer is too much of a pro to say anything damningly overt.

"I mean, I can't tell you what to do, exactly. You need to be comfortable with what you do."

Yeah, right.

"But I think you could start by simply letting things heat up a little. Everything you need is here: Drinks, music, a secluded spot..."

Rosaline can practically hear the gossip headlines in the producer's mind, the click-baiting video titles: _Sex at the Club - Shameless Mister Right contestant goes all in_. The would _love_ that, she's sure.

But she also knows that the producers haven't gotten any interesting footage out of her yet - and if she won't provide it on her own, they'll fabricate it themselves. So, as usual, it's in her best interest to play along and just give them what they want - or as much of it as she's willing to give.

When Benvolio returns with their drinks, she only waits around until they've toasted and taken a good long sip for courage before she takes his hand and starts pulling him out of their secluded corner of the club and towards the dance floor.

"Let's dance!"

“Okay...”

Benvolio seems doubtful that she really means it – and then surprised when it turns out she does. But the moment they reach the dance floor, she pulls him straight into the throng of people - let the camera men figure out how to film it – and starts swaying, beckoning him to come closer with her hands and an inviting smile.

Now Benvolio realizes she's serious – sort of.

"Are you drunk?" Even over the noise of the club, Rosaline can hear how scandalized he sounds, and she can't help but laugh.

"I'm not drunk. I just want to have some fun."

She starts moving more insistently, moving closer to loosely lay her arms on his shoulders. Leaning in, she makes sure to miss his mic when she whispers:

"Just play along, alright? They want a show, we'll give them a show."

Benvolio looks at her silently for a moment, eyes searching as he seems to ponder her suggestion.

“Alright,“ he finally says. ”Let's give them a show.“

Then his hands are on her hips, really drawing her close, and Rosaline tells herself not to be so prudish when her insides do a little jump at the contact. They're really doing this, then – whatever _this_ is going to be. But now that they've reached this point and Benvolio is following her lead, Rosaline is starting to have doubts. What exactly is she planning to do for the camera? A little bit of fun, goofy dancing? A bit of making out on the dancefloor? Straight-up dirty dancing-action? She isn't sure how she'll pull it off, especially once she thinks of the reactions when it airs. After all, if one little kiss sent Benvolio's fans into a rage-frenzy, what's going to happen if she really throws herself at him?

But while the thought makes her courage falter and her movements slow down, Benvolio seems to have found his rhythm – and to have noticed her lapse of courage. With a little smile, he grips her hips tighter and spins her around to mold her against him.

“Stop thinking so much,” he murmurs into her neck. “Just dance.”

And so she does, quickly falling into a rhythm in sync with Benvolio's movements, her hands joining his on her hips. It's been ages since she last danced like this, she recalls; like it's a Friday night and the next week's challenges have been put on hold and everything could happen with the guy she's dancing with or nothing at all, and not knowing what it will be at the end of the night is half the thrill.

The music turns slower on the next song, heavy and sultry, and Rosaline lets herself fall into it, the vibrations from the bass running up her legs as it takes control of her movements. She doesn't have to control anything here, she realizes – her body can handle this on its own just by following the music's lead, and Benvolio, she trusts, will make sure they stay in their place and not bump into other dancers.

Thus assured, she lets her head fall back to rest on Benvolio's shoulder, her eyes idly following the streaks of light dancing across the ceiling. It brings her that last bit closer to him, his chest against her back, and makes convenient room for him to nuzzle the curve of her neck when the camera crew pops up before them with an expectant-looking producer. She doesn't flinch this time, too caught up in the music, and Benvolio gets bold enough to press a kiss to the side of her neck that makes her shiver.

Still, as much as she enjoys it when his lips continue their trail up her neck to the side of her jaw (and _God_ , there's no denying that she does), she really should keep in mind how this must look, how it will make _her_ look when it's included in the episode... But when she opens her eyes to find the two of them reflected in the mirrored ceiling, they simply look... beautiful.

Her breath catches at the sight of them, entwined so close it seems like their only natural state. She can only just tell where he ends and she begins by a series of intriguing contrasts – the pale skin of his hands against the dark blue sequins of her dress, his gold-and-russet waves mingling with her dark curls, his head bent towards her and hers thrown back in abandon... 

The sight only adds to the heat already building inside her with every touch of Benvolio's lips against her neck, makes her forget that they have an audience with a camera, forget that this was supposed to be for show. It's not for show that her blood thrums in time with the thumping bass, that her skin feels like there's an electrical charge running along it. She's dimly aware that they've progressed from swaying together to basically grinding, shamelessly, and yet she can't quite bring herself to stop.

She draws her arms up to cross them behind his head, fingertips curling into his hair, and Benvolio turns his head to kiss the soft skin on the inside of her bicep. The gesture sends a shiver through her even as she realizes it's too much, too intimate – it should be done away from the cameras, away from the other dancers and club patrons, at a place where it can be followed by many other such kisses, and end with her out of her clothes and in his arms...

And that's when she finally snaps out of it, because they're _not_ alone and they can't do any of those things... but she _wants_ them, she realizes with a start. Not because of the alcohol buzzing through her, not because she's stressed and keyed up like she was the night she went to his room and their little practice session got out of hand, but because it's _him_ and he has a knack for making her skin thrum and her knees go weak – but more importantly, she knows he would never use that ability to hurt or embarrass her, and that's what would make it so easy to give in to temptation.

Instead, she eases herself away and turns back around just as another song sets in – faster and less sultry, thank God, and she's relieved to get back to safer ground even if she can still feel where his hands were just a moment ago; even if there's still the same heat shining from his eyes that she felt pulsing through her own body.

“All good?”, Benvolio leans forward to ask, worry flickering across his face, and Rosaline has by now regained enough control of herself to smile reassuringly.

“Of course. We're just dancing, right?”

She knows that's not _all_ they were doing, and so does he – but he accepts her words with a nod and keeps a little more distance between them, keeps his touches and smiles light and harmless for the rest of the night.

They're just dancing, and that's as it should be, she tells herself – but later, when they get to the hotel and say goodnight, she goes to her room with a strange feeling: The aching sense that she's missed out on something.

***

 

The next day, Rosaline has a mild hangover and a severe case of being unable to look anyone in the eye, from the crew to Stella – who has most likely been told about what happened last night – to Benvolio. Most of all Benvolio.

Luckily, they start the day early to fly on to their next destination, Rome, and Rosaline can spend the drive dozing, trying to catch up on at least some of the sleep she's been missing out on because of their club outing last night.

It's a wise decision, because they barely get enough time to check in and change at the hotel before they're called to the hotel bar, where Benvolio announces Rosaline as his pick for the day's date.

Rosaline shoots him an annoyed look. She knows it makes sense for him to show an increased interest in her before the finale, but still, another date means another day of trying to fulfill just enough of the producers' demands while dodging their traps, and after last night, she has a feeling she's coming closer and closer to a point where that becomes impossible – and to a point where she no longer knows if she's doing certain things for the producers or because the wants to do them herself.

But she smiles and accepts Benvolio's invitation, and then they're off in the production team's van to start the day's activity: A scavenger hunt all over the city, with clues leading them from one must-see place to the next. It's a cute idea, it doesn't seem to hold all that much potential for things to get out of hand, and most importantly, it will allow her to actually see the city rather than stay cooped up inside the hotel – and maybe that's exactly what Benvolio was thinking when he chose her? The thought softens her again, and she lets him help her into and out of the van with a smile.

It takes some time for them to find their footing when it comes to the riddles, but soon they're working together well, each providing different insights and approaches to the task. Benvolio is a walking encyclopedia of anything related to art or architecture, which makes up a good portion of the questions, whereas Rosaline has a knack for spotting patterns and solving logical puzzles, and the triumph of correctly solving every one of the riddles only serves to brighten their mood further.

And what's not to feel good about? The sun is shining but it's not oppressively hot, Benvolio is on his most chivalrous behaviour for the cameras, and – and this she still can't quite believe herself – she's _in Rome_. And for once, the producers' aim for the day does not seem to include humiliating her but to let her enjoy the day in peace. This close to the finale, the intended narrative is probably to just show them having the most beautifully romantic day together, and even if she tries not to let the romance part of it get to her, Rosaline appreciates their unusal subtlety.

Besides, there's no need to prod them to get some good shots: In addition to the riddles, they have one task to do at every spot they reach, little things that she's sure will do great in a montage of their date. They're all harmless, luckily, and Rosaline plays along without worry or restraint for once – although at some point, it occurs to her how strange that part of the episode will look in contrast to last night's little dance number.

At the Piazza di Spagna, they're tasked with taking a creative selfie on the Spanish Steps (not as easy as it sounds, seeing as the place is overflowing with tourists). Later, their challenges include picking what they think would be the other's favourite flavor of gelato, racing to find a specific flower at the market on the Campo de' Fiori and making a wish for their (as yet hypothetical) relationship at the Trevi Fountain.

That last one is admittedly rather cheesy, but Rosaline mumbles something about wishing for their journey to continue past this trip and gets it over with, and all the other challenges are great fun. Benvolio's antics while trying to find the perfect pose for their selfie have her giggling uncontrollably, the ice-cream flavor he picks for her (tart-and-sweet red berry) may not be her favorite, but it's still delicious, and when he manages to find the flower and carefully tucks it into her curls, her heart skips a beat at the utter gentleness with which he brushes her hair behind her ear, the softness in his gaze. Leaning back, he takes in the effect, the way the magenta blossom no doubt pops against her dark hair and harmonises with her soft pink dress, and she may be imagining it but it almost seems like his breath is catching for a moment.

“Beautiful,” he exhales, looking at her in a way that makes it clear he's not referring to the flower, before he leans in to kiss her ever-so-softly. “Simply beautiful.”

She feels dizzy when he lets go again and steps back – and, she notices with surprise that is milder than it should be: She feels _happy_.

There may be a camera crew watching (and filming) their every move and a potential shitstorm waiting for her back home once that article drops – but right now, it feels like time has stopped, like every moment from now on will be sunshine and gelato and Benvolio smiling at her, and she finds it a vision she can live with.

But time moves on and so does the crew's itinerary, leading them to their next destination: The Vatican. Rosaline is annoyed for a moment – she finally wants to kiss Benvolio Montague, and now she's not allowed to – but then they step into the Sistine Chapel and she looks over at Benvolio, and suddenly it all seems worth it. Benvolio has stopped in his tracks, head craned back to look at the intricately painted ceiling with a reverent expression, and there's such peace on his face, such humbled awe, that it makes her breath falter for a moment as well.

“I've always wanted to come here, to see this. And now I am.”

“Now you are,” Rosaline smiles, happy just to be happy for him – and secretly unable to stop stealing glances as they progress through the room and Benvolio continues to stare, completely enraptured, at the frescoes on the ceiling. Uncharacteristically, he's silent through nearly the entire tour, and Rosaline finds it intriguing to see him like this, at peace and entirely himself, with no thought to pleasing or charming or impressing anyone.

She's glad to see him get this chance, and makes her own round through the chapel in silence despite the producers' impatient hints. They're getting their share of good shots today, but she'll make sure to let Benvolio have this moment for himself.

Speech returns to him soon after they leave the building, and on the way back in the van, Benvolio is already rattling off facts about the various aspects and symbols hidden in the fresco, still glowing with excitement.

Their next and last station is the one _she_ has been looking forward to the most, the thing most synonymous with Rome: The Colosseum. And now it's Rosaline's turn to stare, barely able to make it out of the van because she's already set sight on the building and it hits her that it's actually real, and she's actually standing before it. She can reach out and touch the rough, weather-worn stone and imagine she can hear the echoes of several centuries' worth of people passing through and past it, millions of lives intertwined with this one spot.

She cranes her head to look up the row of archways on the outer facade and wonders if this is what Benvolio felt like in the chapel – and when she turns her head towards him, it is to find him watching her just like she watched him earlier.

“Breathtaking, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she replies, indeed breathless with wonder, and then blurts out: “Thank you, for taking me on this date. For letting me see this.”

Benvolio smiles, a little shy, and remains quiet because, well, the fact that he allowed her to experience this means that Stella is missing out on it, and she can't imagine him being comfortable with that. But she still wants him to know just how very much she appreciates the gesture, and without thinking, she throws her arms around him and hugs him.

“I mean it, I really do. This is...” she pulls back again, not wanting the hug to linger too long because she's afraid that the longer she lets it go on, the harder it will be to let go. “This may be the greatest day I've had in a long time.”

But if she thought pulling back from the hug would take her out of the danger zone, Rosaline was sorely mistaken. Because she doesn't immediately step back and Benvolio doesn't either and so she stays in his arms and watches him watch her, and having him so close, with sunshine falling on his face and a little smile tugging at his lips, makes it obvious how easy it would be to kiss him right now – and since no one makes a move to stop her, that's exactly what she does.

After weeks of shooting, the urge to watch her back, to stay aware of her surroundings and never let herself forget what's happening around has sharpened into instinct. But now, she ignores that instinct, ignores the people grumbling as they have to push past them, ignores the camera crew starting to fidget as soon as they have more than a few seconds of footage, no doubt eager to get back to the hotel for a break after the long shoot, even to ignore the voice in her head that still insists on pointing out how very strange all of this is.

Sure, it is strange, and certainly unexpected, that her life somehow got to a point where she's in Rome, kissing Benvolio Montague at the Colosseum. But then, her father always told her to embrace the unexpected, and that's exactly what she's doing. And she has to say, it turns out to be pretty good advice.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know, the place where I've decided to set the finale (after much, much googling) is the Orange Garden on the Aventine, which is supposed to offer one of the best panoramic views of Rome. Oh, and I'm deviating, again, from the way the real show's finale scenes are structured because, well, this version of the show is just a little different. Also, we are now officially entering the brutal pining-phase of this fic, so buckle up.

Her last day on the show passes in a blur, a whirlwind of sights and marvels, jokes and flirtatious smiles and kisses that don't take any effort at all, and Rosaline thinks vaguely that maybe that's something she should think about.

But then they're already back at the hotel and she's whisked away to have her hair and make-up done and change for the finale, and all Benvolio manages to say (low and out of sight of the cameras, luckily) is:

“See you later, Capulet.” 

He smiles in a way she's sure is supposed to be reassuring but fails to have that effect – because instead, it causes a twinge inside her that she can't quite explain. It will have to go onto her "think about later"-pile, like so many other things that have happened recently.

But while normally, Rosaline is a pro at refusing to think about things, today the show won't let her get away with it. The stylist sent to do her hair and make-up was either briefed by the showrunners on what to say to her, or she's just deeply involved in Rosaline's televised romance all on her own, but either way, as soon as Rosaline sits down, the woman starts prodding her for information.

“So, the big finale's coming up! I bet you're excited – and a little nervous too?” 

“Yes, it's a big night.”

“That it is. So, how are we making sure you'll look your best?” 

It sounds like a rhetorical question and Rosaline doesn't really care, so she just waits for the stylist to decide.

“Don't worry, love, we'll have you looking so radiant he won't doubt for a second that he's made the right choice when he picks you.” 

“ _If_ he picks me,” Rosaline corrects, trying to sound unsure even though she knows very well that he will, and that it won't mean anything. 

“Oh trust me, he will.” 

The woman sounds so sure that now Rosaline is starting to wonder if she knows something about the show being rigged.

“How do you know that?” 

“I mean, I don't _know_ , exactly. But I've been watching the show and, well, I've seen the way he looks at you. I think the two of you have something really special going.”

“You think?” 

Rosaline makes sure to keep her voice timid and unsure, a nervous contestant right before the big finale, and – as the show would like her to think – the most important decision of her life. A decision someone _else_ gets to make.

She shoves aside the thought – was she always this bitter, or did the show make it worse? - and turns her attention back to the stylist. She's sure the woman was briefed by the producers on how to steer this conversation: Get her hyped up and confident so she goes into the finale with her hopes up and her guard down. This way, if she gets rejected, her fall will be deeper, and her reaction for the camera more satisfying. The fact that this is what they're trying to build up to – instead of, say, making her insecure now to show her crying with happiness later – tells her that the showrunners actually _don't_ expect her to get picked: They expect Benvolio to go for Stella, and she can't help but wonder why that is.

Benvolio said he's basically given up on the idea of starting something with Stella, but apparently, whatever he felt for her, or still feels, has been noticed by the showrunners, and Stella identified as their preferred candidate. Easier to market to the audience, Rosaline assumes, and tries not to let it hurt her.

In any case, this means Benvolio will have to have a good explanation ready when he chooses her, or the producers will get suspicious.

“I _know_ ,” the stylist answers her question, tearing Rosaline out of her thoughts. “Trust me, I've been working on this show from the beginning. I don't often see a connection like that. Most of the time, they're attracted to each other as much as to the fame waiting for them after the show – the follow-up interviews, the product endorsements, the book deals... But the two of you, you seem different. I think you'd be great together – and I think Benvolio knows.” 

Oh, Benvolio knows a lot of things the woman doesn't, Rosaline thinks, and quickly calls to mind their mission for the _Gazette_ – because it's safer, she knows, than thinking about the woman's words: _You'd be great together._ Before the show, she would have struggled not to laugh out loud at such a statement. After all, the only thing she and Benvolio seemed to be able to do was bicker. But now, after they've been working together to keep their cover and make the most of their time to investigate, she has to admit things have changed. They certainly make a good team – but would they make a good couple?

It doesn't matter, she tells herself sternly: That's not what they're here for.

“I guess I'll find out soon.” 

“Oh come on, I think you already know. He took you on two dates in a row! He's basically been spending the entire time on this trip with you. And from what I hear,” she leans closer, starting in on Rosaline's make-up, “things got pretty steamy last night.” 

Rosaline feels her face heat up at the memory of last night. She's been trying to tell herself that it wasn't a big deal, that compared to what went down on some of the other seasons, the two of them dancing the way they did last night was not a big deal. But apparently, it was big enough to be gossipped about by the crew – or, for that matter, to keep popping up inside her head in vivid detail.

“And of course,” the woman continues, brushing products onto Rosaline's face that she couldn't name if she was asked to, “you spent today together as well. Did you have a good time?” 

“We did,” Rosaline says, smiling dreamily. “We've been all over the city on this sort of scavenger hunt. We went to the Colosseum, the Vatican, the Spanish Steps... everywhere.” 

The stylist smiles at her gushing.

“And apparently you've had a few little _moments_ today as well,” she prods, gently, and promptly causes Rosaline's mind to get flooded with images of the day, so fresh she thinks she can still feel all of it: The sunshine and the rush of excitement when they solved a puzzle and the feel of Benvolio's kiss at the flower market. Because she's sure it was for the show – but if that's what his _fake_ kisses feel like, she can't imagine what it would be like if he ever meant them. 

And, even more of a puzzle for her mind, there's the knowledge that her own kiss at the Colosseum wasn't for the show, no matter how much she'd like to tell herself it was: In that moment, she kissed him because she wanted to, because she was happy and grateful and he was there and looking entirely kissable.

And she doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

“Yeah, I guess we did,” she admits to the stylist, after reminding herself that the woman is still waiting for an answer, and then belatedly adds another dreamy smile. “Maybe he really does like me.” 

The woman laughs as she takes a step back to cast a critical look over her make-up.

“Trust me, he does. Now,” apparently satisfied with her work, she sets aside the make-up brush and picks up a hairbrush, “on to your hair.”

***

 

Luckily, her hair doesn't take as long as she was afraid it would: Instead of shaping it into some elaborate updo, the stylist opts to style it into soft curls, with only a few strands loosely pinned back - an understated look that, together with the glowy make-up and her light turquoise dress, creates a fresh, romantic effect that Rosaline wouldn't have gone for herself but which she has to say she really likes. It's a nice change from the show's usual finale-looks of big hair, tons of make-up, and glitter-encrusted ballgowns – not to mention, with the low-heeled wedges Juliet packed for her (as a back-up option to the stiletto heels she's _supposed_ to wear and definitely won't), it's a comparably comfortable look that still looks elegant.

No matter what the producers might come up with at the last minute, she stands at least a slim chance of facing it with dignity – and looking good in the process.

Before they take off for the final location, there's the obligatory pre-shooting interview, but this time, she producers' tactics work in her favor. They may have set the stylist on her to get her hopes up before the finale, but since Rosaline isn't really invested in its outcome (or uncertain about Benvolio's choice), all it does is prepare her for when the producers hone in on the same questions.

She's been thinking a little bit about what she'd say during this particular interview since they decided that she'd be Benvolio's final pick, and while she can't quite bring herself to repeat the contestants' usual claims that the season's “Mister Right” was The One for them, and his choice during the finale constitutes the “most important moment of their life” – which Rosaline always figured was bullshit – she has managed to come up with a few things she's sure she'll get through with a straight face, and those she trots out now.

“Benvolio is a great guy. He's sweet, and caring, and a good listener. He makes me laugh – and maybe that sounds lame, but I think it's important.”

The producer still seems less than impressed, and Rosaline turns up the drama a little bit. She can't really cry on command, unfortunately, but she thinks she does a solid job faking it by taking a shuddering breath and making her lower lip tremble.

“So I can definitely picture a future for us – and the closer we get to the finale, the more scared I get that he's not picturing that same future.”

She wipes away an imaginary tear – crying is usually encouraged on the show, and particularly in these pre-finale interviews – and laughs shakily.

“So yeah, you could say I'm a little nervous.”

It seems to be enough to satisfy the producer, and Rosaline ends the interview feeling more than a little smug: She actually made it through this one without being tricked into saying or doing something she'll later regret, and now feels more optimistic than ever that she'll get through this evening without any more damage to her dignity.

She feels calm and composed and ready for whatever might happen – but when she steps outside the hotel as instructed by the producers, she meets an unexpected surprise.

She expected to find a limousine that would drive her to the setting for the finale and for Benvolio to wait for her there, because that's usually how the finales play out. But Benvolio is already there, waiting for her in the hotel's elegant driveway – and instead of a limousine, the only vehicle waiting for her is... a Vespa.

One single, white, vintage-style Vespa. And beside it, his smile slowly fading away, is Benvolio.

“I didn't think of the dress.“

It takes her a moment to process this sentence – because she's still processing the Vespa and definitely _not_ because of the way his eyes widened and his face lit up when she stepped outside, or because of the fact that he doesn't look too bad himself in his suit.

“I suggested the Vespa, but I didn't consider that you might be wearing a long dress.” He looks back and forth between her and their ride, then sighs. “It was supposed to be romantic.” 

“Very _Roman Holiday_ ,” Rosaline suggests, because she can see where the visual came from, and she has to admit, it is kind of romantic. 

“Exactly,” Benvolio agrees, pleased at the suggestion. “But we can still get a limo.” 

“No, this will work,” Rosaline steps closer to inspect the Vespa, now determined not to let his idea fail. “As long as I drive.”

Benvolio breaks into a broad grin.

“I'm fine with that. But there's one more thing to do before we take off,” he picks up one of the two helmets perched on the seat of the Vespa – both of which have been equipped with small camera – and steps closer to place it on her head, careful not to disturb her hairdo too much, simple as it is. “Safety first.”

He tucks her hair out of the way before carefully closing the helmet's chinstrap, and it's such a small gesture but one that's so caring and casually intimate that Rosaline can't help but feel like it _means_ something – something that makes her stomach flutter.

Great, she thinks – two minutes into their finale, and she's already freaking out.

She turns away and gets on the Vespa instead – nothing better to clear her head than having to focus on surviving traffic in Rome, right?

But her reprieve is a short one, because Benvolio gets on the Vespa behind her and suddenly she has to deal with his hands on her hips and his legs bracketing hers and his body heat reminding her he's right behind her, and that flutter in her stomach picks up again.

She hits the gas a little harder than necessary and has to swerve to avoid oncoming traffic, and Benvolio's grip on her tightens while he lets out a curse she can hear even under the helmet.

Luckily, she quickly gets a better grip on how to steer the scooter and they're off, the little sat nav attached to the handlebar telling her where to go. It leads them through the city for a bit and then up one of the seven hills, along picturesque cobblestone streets and past ancient palazzi and piazzas with elegant fountains, and more than a few times, Rosaline is tempted to stop just so she can have a look around, soak in as much of the city as she can while she's here.

But when they get to their destination, she does not regret pushing on for a second. The show has somehow managed to cordon off part of a public park and transform it into their set for the night, and the result is breathtaking. The park, Benvolio explains once he's helped her off the scooter and taken off her helmet (again causing that traitorous little flutter when he smoothes over her mussed hair), is situated on the Aventine Hill and called the “Orange Garden”. And indeed, there are little clusters of orange trees scattered throughout the park, crouching underneath the tall pines framing the broad boulevard in its center. Over the gravel, the crew has laid out an actual red carpet, and they follow it to the end of the park and up the steps to a raised terrace – and there, below them, the city is spread out like a gift, with the majestic Dome of St. Peter's Basilica rising tall before a light purple sunset sky.

Rosaline steps closer to the balustrade at the end of the terrace, completely ignoring the large X taped to the red carpet where she's supposed to stand for the shoot. But with a view like this, who could care about that?

Rosaline ignores the producer calling out to her to take her position, ignores the camera crew hovering behind her, overwhelmed with how much beauty she got to see in just one day.

It's only when Benvolio steps up next to her that she returns her attention to the present.

“'You know, I'm starting to regret bringing you here,” Benvolio comments with a swooping hand gesture across the horizon, encompassing the entire view before them. “We have an important conversation ahead of us – but how am I supposed to get you to pay attention to me when you have this to look at?”

Rosaline laughs softly and turns towards him, not quite turning her back on the view but fixing her gaze squarely on him.

“If you make it worth my while, I promise to listen and not get distracted.”

“I'll try,” he replies in the same light tone, holding out his hand to lead her back to their premarked position.

Rosaline follows him there and turns towards him, taking a deep breath to ready herself for that all-important last one-on-one conversation. Benvolio's expression shifts, his voice turning serious, and suddenly she really does get as nervous as she claimed during her earlier interview.

“You know this is an important moment – our last evening together on the show, and the night I have to make a choice. But before I go on talking about myself, I want to thank you: For giving me a chance to get to know you better and let you get to know me. For letting me try to impress you, and not letting me get away with it when I failed.”

He smiles, and Rosaline only realises belatedly that it is in response to the smile that has snuck onto her face without her own contribution.

“Like I said before,” he continues, “you are a difficult woman to impress – but that makes it all the more worth it to try. Because you're smart and passionate and brave and so full of heart, and someone like that is someone worth trying for, even if you made it clear from the start that capturing your heart would be a challenge. But as I spent time with you these past weeks, it became clear to me that it's a challenge I want to take on.”

He's quickly approaching the end of his speech, with a climax most viewers would at this point assume would consist of him sinking down on one knee and presenting one of those gigantic engagement rings that are usually exchanged during the show's finales. And though she knows he won't because they've talked about this, for a moment she still starts to panic that the producers will somehow make the coveted proposal happen anyway.

But instead of kneeling down, Benvolio steps closer and takes her hands in his, and Rosaline continues breathing once more.

“I want to keep spending time with you, to keep finding ways to make you laugh and topics you want to have passionate discussions about. I want to go to bed with you and wake up with you and be the person by your side to support you no matter what you're facing. And if you think I could be any good at that, and that you can see yourself wanting those things too... well, then you would make me the happiest man alive if you chose me tonight.” 

When they talked about the fact that he'd have to pick her during the finale, Rosaline must have known, subconsciously, that “picking” her would include some kind of declaration – but she had no idea hearing it would be like this.

She tries not to let it get to her, tries to keep reminding herself that it's not real – but still his words get to her, despite the panicked litany of _“it's not real, it's just for the show”_ running through her head. Because his speech might be for the show – but the picture he paints feels all too real, and heartstoppingly easy to imagine.

“Yes,” Rosaline breathes, wondering where the hell all the air in her lungs disappeared to because it sure as hell isn't where she needs it, “I can see that. For us.” 

It's not a good reply by any measure, not to something as beautiful as what Benvolio just said – but, and this is even worse somehow: It's the _truth_.

The very thing she fought so hard to hide away from the cameras for all those weeks of shooting, and on her very last evening, it slipped out anyway, in front of the cameras and the crew and a group of tourists that have gathered behind the barriers to watch the proceedings. 

And of all the people hearing it, the only one who counts thinks she doesn't mean it – and no matter what she does or says right now, she won't manage to persuade him that she does.

Still, she feels like if she can't at least try and communicate something that is true, she'll go mad on the spot.... And, it occurs to her, there's one thing she can still do and mean it, even if no one but her will know the meaning: She can still kiss him like she means it.

And when Benvolio leans in for the obligatory finale kiss, that's exactly what she does, pouring her entire truth into it to make sure that at least one thing about this evening is more than a performance.

She expects it to be a strange experience, a blatant contrast between all their earlier, fake kisses – but strangely, it's not. It feels real and natural, an accumulation of their earlier kisses rather than a contradiction, and Rosaline realizes that all those kisses she thought were only for the show have always been about other things as well.

When she went to his room, the kiss started out as practice for when they might have to kiss on camera, but it far surpassed the minimal requirements for physical displays Rosaline intended to meet. Their second kiss, while a perfect opportunity to give the producers and the audience their  _supposed_ first kiss, was about the rush of adrenaline and the joy of making it through an intense experience together as much as it was about providing camera fodder. The way he kissed her in the pool at his uncle's house was raw and impulsive, almost as if it had been quite beyond his control. Their kisses earlier today were about simply enjoying each other's company and having fun together. And  _this_ kiss.... 

This kiss is about _them_ , about everything they went through together, the sweetness and the heat, the sadness and the joy. It's certainly _not_ about the show, the cameras or the producers or anyone standing around and still watching, not that Rosaline is even aware of them right now: In this moment, it's just her and Benvolio, the ancient city beneath them and the glittering stars above, his hands cradling her face and his lips so, so soft against hers.

And all those questions that have started to manifest at the back of her mind lately, questions she's been doing her damnedest to ignore, now return with a vengeance to unite into one single, central question: If some of the things they experienced together were real rather than just a show for the cameras, then what _else_ was real?

Her list of possible answers grows longer than she expected: There were plenty of smiles that were real, at least on her end. Benvolio's concern for her after she was hit by those hateful comments was real, as was his anger when she hit her jaw on the edge of the hot tub and the crew kept filming. Their conversations were real; the things she learned about him and the things she let him learn about herself, both on and off-camera. And what else is real is the flutter in her stomach when he kisses her, or even looks at her like he might, and the fact that, whenever they're having what the stylist referred to as “a moment”, her body never seems quite ready to let go when one of those moments ends.

So, if they _really_ became friends, and there _really_ might be the potential for something else there, the question now clamouring for attention in her mind is this: What if his words just now were real, too? What if _all of this_ was real – if they really were here to confess their feelings and decide to find out, together, what they can build on those feelings? What if this was a real date too, not two liars playing their parts on television but two people in the midst of genuinely falling in love?

And suddenly, with a strength that feels like a punch to the gut, Rosaline wishes it was.

“Cut!”, someone yells, so close to her it makes her jump, and the director barges onto the platform they're standing on. 

“Someone messed up in wardrobe. Fix that!” 

He points accusingly at Benvolio, and it only turns out a moment later that what offended him so much was the sleeve of his jacket.

A stylist rushes over to fix Benvolio's jacket, and the director turns towards her with a thin smile.

“And Rosaline, I know you're probably overwhelmed with emotion right now,” the director's voice, dripping with sarcasm, suggests he doubts she's anything of the sort, “but if you could maybe find more than three words to express yourself the next time around, that would be great.” 

Well, Rosaline thinks, she might have just experienced a revelation of biblical proportions concerning her feelings towards Benvolio Montague, with no idea what to do about it – but at least on the show, everything is as it always was.

“Let's do it again, from the start.”

This time around, there's a murder of crows flying up from a nearby tree and through the shot, which apparently doesn't work with the director's aesthetic vision.

The next four times, he's unhappy with Rosaline's answer, repeatedly too short and too dry and to “bleh”, in his words. It takes a consultation with all of the producers on set to find a wording for her reply that the director is happy with, and another five takes until Rosaline has delivered the words in a way he deems natural enough.

By this time, they're far from anything Rosaline could ever see herself saying, far from the truth she now so desperately wants to get out – but at this point, with her speech practically pre-written by the director, she can't just up and change it, can she?

So she keeps repeating those clichéd, meaningless words, words dictated by someone else, when all she wants to do is tell Benvolio the truth – and all the while having to listen to him repeat his earlier words and wondering if that speech too was tampered with, or if it's all him.

It's close enough to the truth, she thinks, close enough to be drawn from their actual rocky start and gradually encroaching closeness. It's certainly infused with that humour that is so uniquely his, that inability to resist teasing her no matter the situation. And his delivery, of course, would be enough to make her knees go weak if she wasn't so very aware of how dangerous it would be to believe the words, if even for a second.

But Rosaline forces herself to focus on the shoot and the night marches on until they've managed to get a take the director is actually happy with. After the mass-produced romantic declarations, they also shoot some additional footage – reassurances to each other about how happy they are, flowery fantasies of their future together – and by the time the director finally decides they're finished, the sky is turning light again, and Rosaline shivers as the mild night air turns crisp with morning cold. 

The crew start packing up their gear, completely disinterested in the supposed stars of the show from the moment the director yells his final “cut!”, and no one is paying any attention when Rosaline walks towards the balustrade at the edge of the terrace once more.

Out of the morning haze, the massive gray silhouette of the Basilica rises before her eyes, a testament to human faith, or at the very least to humanity's love for both beauty and glory, and for a moment, Rosaline's racing mind calms down at the reminder of how young she is in comparison to it, how tiny and insignificant.

But not for long: Benvolio soon joins her at the bannister, and while she's immediately aware of his presence just behind her, he surprises her when he drapes his jacket around her shoulders, encasing her in much-needed warmth but making all her inner turmoil flare up again – because it's just so goddamn  _him_ to still be making considerate gestures after he just spent the entire night filming. 

“What are you doing?” 

It's a stupid question given his gesture is perfectly self-explanatory, but Benvolio explains anyway.

“You looked like you were cold.”

“Oh. Right.” Rosaline cringes internally at how thin and shaky her voice sounds.

“That okay?” 

“Sure. I was cold, actually. So thank you.”

Silence falls as they watch the sunrise, not tense but not quite comfortable either.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?“

“Yes,” Rosaline agrees with a sigh. They'll head straight to the airport after this, with only a quick stop at the hotel to change, and Rosaline wonders how on earth she could possibly be expected to leave a place like this.

"I don't want to leave," she blurts out, and Benvolio chuckles, so softly she only just catches it.

She means leaving Rome of course, more glorious than ever in the pink-and-orange morning light – but it would be a lie to pretend that's _all_ she means.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you yell at me, I would like to say that I only ended the chapter here because a) I have more planned for the two of them and b) I'd be damned if I let their big romantic moment/declaration be dictated by the manipulations of the "Mister Right"-show.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter feels a little aimless and filler-y and I'm not entirely sure I like it - but it got me back into this fic, and for now that's also a good goal. Also, Rosaline needed a break. She's not really getting one emotionally, but at least she won't be filmed while she continues to be confused.

Rosaline and Benvolio are on a plane over the Atlantic when the second-to-last episode airs, the finale shoot safely behind them. But back home, the audience is still slowly being hyped up for it, with promotional clips and little snippets and finally, the episode that shows their adventures in Rome. Naturally, the rest of Team True Love watches and comments, as entranced as ever: Benvolio's shopping and sightseeing trip in Milan with Stella, champagne-soaked and glamorous. The tense three-person dinner, introducing Rosaline as the third-wheel late-comer only to pull a bait-and-switch by chasing off Stella instead. But those kinds of shenanigans are no longer surprising to them now. What is, however, is what happens afterwards, when Rosaline pulls Benvolio onto the dancefloor for some steamy dancing that leaves Juliet and Mercutio dumbstruck.

“Are you sure that's your cousin? Because she has really loosened up.”

“They probably got her super drunk,” Juliet speculates in response – but looking closer, she doesn't think Rosaline seems all that drunk. A little tipsy, maybe, a little dazed – but still mostly in possession of her mental facilities.

“Ugh, I hate that I can't just call her up and ask her what the hell is going on!”

“I hear that!”, Mercutio seconds – but as frustrating as it might be not to get the inside scoop on what they're watching (because they worry about their two reality tv stars, not because they're nosy), there's nothing to do about that now.

And finally, the last date of the show is upon them.

Benvolio chooses Rosaline for it once more, and the two of them embark on a scavenger hunt throughout the city, chasing a series of clues past its most famous sights. They bicker and tease each other, but they figure out the clues with record speed, working together to solve the puzzles, and sending each other beaming smiles when it appears they've found another stop on their treasure hunt.

“They make a great team, don't they?”, Mercutio observes. His voice is soft, and Juliet wonders if he's referring to more than just the treasure hunt because frankly, she thinks they'd make a great team in general, to her astonishment – it certainly didn't look like it when they first started this project, with their two stars constantly at each other's throats and disagreeing about every little thing.

But they've carried themselves through this show without blowing their cover, without causing any scandals that would follow them forever, and without killing each other. That alone is remarkable – but now, Juliet is starting to think that they've become much more than a well-functioning team.

So far, every time Benvolio and Rosaline went on a date, Juliet was ready to believe that the only reason it looked so romantic was because of skilful editing, every shot crafted to make Benvolio's date ideas look impossibly romantic, his chosen contestant for the date smitten and glowing with happiness. But as the show progressed, Juliet became less and less sure that editing is _all_ that's happening here. With every new episode, every new date, she could practically see Rosaline looking more relaxed, opening up more easily and smiling more earnestly. And Juliet is still sure that there are things that can be done with editing, things that her cousin would be able to fake – but not details like the warmth in her smile, the earnest interest showing on her face when Benvolio reveals something about himself, the catch of breath when they kiss. And Benvolio, for his part, may show the same sweetness and consideration towards all the contestants, but his concern when Rosaline encounters some difficulty, his little proud smiles when she excels at something, or when he makes her smile in turn – those seem to be for Rosaline alone.

Which would be no problem at all – would actually, in a beautiful instance of dramatic irony, mean that for once, the show might deliver the romance it promises – if Juliet wasn't so sure that her cousin, if she's even noticed what is happening, would still be outraged at the very thought that there's something _happening_ in the first place.

"Do you think they even notice it?"

Mercutio doesn't have to ask what Juliet means by "it".

"I think they're starting to catch on. The question is if they're going to admit it any time soon."

Juliet sighs.

"For their sake, let's hope they will."

***

 

The flight back from Italy is long and boring, but it is also notably free of cameras. Rosaline isn't sure if it's because the crew is too tired from the all-nighter they pulled for the finale shooting or if the producers don't want to call any attention to them, but there's not a single camera to be seen, and Rosaline and Benvolio are being basically ignored.

Which is great, but also, Rosaline can't help but think, a little weird. After all, don't people want to know what happens to the most hyped-up couple on tv _after_ the grand romantic finale? Don't they want to see how the fairytale couple does when faced with everyday problems? Because in her book, that's what should make it clear if a romance is bound to last or not, and no rose Benvolio grandly hands her should mean as much as the fact that he spends most of their stop-over in line at Starbucks to get her and Stella some caramel lattes. Those small kindnesses are the kind of thing people should judge a "Mister Right" on, not how good he looks posed before a romantic sunset.

But those are just the sorts of things that make the show so frustrating, and Rosaline decides not to let them bother her just now. She makes a note in her phone instead so she can pick that train of thought up again for her article and goes back to sleep.

Another stopover and one short final lag of the flight later, they're landing at Verona's small airport and the producers kick into action again, launching a series of manoeuvers to smuggle them out of the airport unseen, sunglassed and hats and cars with tinted windows included, and amid the flurry of activity, Rosaline doesn't get a chance to say goodbye to Benvolio.

She feels silly even noticing it - what did she expect him to do, make a spectacle at four in the morning next to the baggage claim just to kiss her goodbye? - but still, it feels weird for him to drop out of her life so suddenly after taking up such a big space in it until last night.

But of course, he won't be dropping out entirely. He'll be emailing her his notes and thoughts for her article shortly, and she's sure they'll have reasons to stay in contact past the show.

For now, the important thing is that the show is over and she's finally free.

And then finally, Rosaline is back in her tiny apartment, and for a few moments it feels possible that things could go back to normal, before the world watched her pretend to fall in love and decided that she wasn't good enough for the man she had chosen.

Well, she's going to set them straight on that account at least, she thinks with a look at her laptop, just waiting for her to pour all of her thoughts into it and shape them into a final, much-overdue version of the truth. Because that, she knows, is what writing this article has become about by now, much more than just an investigative piece about unsavory practices in the reality TV world that will put her on the map as a writer. It's become about reclaiming her own story, taking it out of the producers' hands and saying: This is what actually happened. This is how I actually am, no matter if it fits your narrative or not.

Because that, she knows now, is what made work on the show so draining: the constant feeling of being out of control, being completely helpless to someone else's manipulation - up to and including her very emotions. Not even those were safe from the producers: She entered the show with a concrete sense of herself and the man she should be with in order to be happy, and they managed to make her think "what if" about a man who's the complete opposite of that person, a man she never would have spared a second thought for before this experience - simply by putting her in a position so isolated and pressured that any small bit of kindness must be interpreted as something meaningful, something for her to want.

At least, that's how she explains it to Livia, who calls the moment her suitcase has hit the floor of her apartment, as if somehow sensing that she's finally alone and able to talk. In typical Livia fashion, it doesn't take her long to get to the issue of Benvolio and their supposed relationship – practically her second question after asking if she got home okay – and Rosaline does her best not to let her nosy little sister realize that she just found the one question she's unable to answer.

She does try, of course, but her theory sounds unconvincing even to her own ears.

"I've basically been brainwashed into liking him," Rosaline hypothesizes, "Or maybe it was Stockholm syndrome. He was one of the only decent people in a sea of scheming producers, and then of course whenever we were on camera together, he had to be all charming and sweet to make them believe he really liked me."

"So he was still an asshole off-camera?" Livia inquires back, sounding confused.

"No! He was being very supportive, and he helped me do research for my article. It's just..." Rosaline falters, sure what she wants to make clear but not sure anymore why it matters, "he isn't what they made him out to be," she finishes lamely, suddenly feeling guilty for the way it sounds, as if she wants to imply that it had been Benvolio pretending to be someone else, rather than the show having their fixed idea of what to highlight about him. As if she didn't know that the way he really is is so much more than what the show made of him.

"Well, neither are you," her sister rightfully points out.

"No, of course not."

"So you really acted all that, huh? The flirting, the kissing?"

Of course they did, Rosaline wants to confirm, but her sister has more questions yet.

“And what about the finale? If you ended the show together, you must have shot the finale yet, right? So did he propose?”

“He didn't propose. We thought that might be a little too much.”

“So what did he do?”

“He just.. said he wants to be with me. It was still a lie, of course, but it felt less horrible than actually pretending to get engaged.”

“Was it - a lie?” Her sister's question is soft, but it still shocks her to her core: Because it's the very same question she's been trying not to ask herself. “Because I don't know the guy, but he'd have to be a pretty good actor if it was all fake.”

“There's a lot of editing going into the episodes. What you saw on screen... is not what really happened.”

She says it with a certainty she isn't feeling, not because she wants to believe it but because it feels safer to do so, and Livia sighs.

“That's disappointing. I mean, I know you didn't like him when you went into this thing, but trust me, on tv that did not show. You looked perfect together, and he looked... well, he looked ready to worship the ground you're walking on that last episode. It all seemed terribly romantic, and now you're telling me it was still all faked?”

“It's almost as if these shows aren't even showing real life,” Rosaline sums up sarcastically. This conversation is starting to make her nervous, hitting too close to parts of her that are still too muddled and sleep-deprived and confused to examine.

“Anyway, it doesn't matter what things looked like on tv because the show's over now, and as soon as I've published my article, things will go back to normal.”

“They don't have to, though.”

Yes, Rosaline thinks, they do. She needs things to be exactly the way they were before, because she knew what she had to do before, knew how she felt. Now she's not sure of anything anymore.

“Look, Liv, can we continue this some time later? I still have a lot of work to do for my article.”

“Alright. But if you want to talk, you call me. I know you like to work through things on your own, but you don't have to.”

“I know,” Rosaline says, heart clenching with fondness and a hint of nostalgia – when did her little sister become the one to give her advice, rather than the other way around? “I'll call again, I promise.”

“I mean, you don't have to call _me_ , necessarily. There might be people better able to understand what it feels like to return to reality after the show...”

She doesn't have to say the name to make it clear who she's referring to.

“I mean it, Livia. I need to write now.”

“Of course you do.”

There's still that slightly patronising note to Livia's voice, but Rosaline ignores it, says goodbye, and returns to her laptop.

She has an article to write – but before that, she has a show to watch.

She opens the network's website with no small amount of trepidation, coffee cup clutched so tightly in her hand the heat of it burns her in seconds. But there's no way around it: After all, how is she supposed to expose all the ways in which the show manipulates and warps the truth without watching the finished product?

And at first, it isn't as much of a challenge as she thought it would be. Yes, her arrival in that stupid dress is as cringeworthy as she expected, but so are the big first moments of several other contestants, one of whom arrives with a live pony in tow (some reference to her living on a farm, the truth of which Rosaline doesn't really remember because the contestant didn't make it past the first episode).

During the first few episodes, there isn't actually much to be seen of her, as the producers apparently didn't consider her enough of a contender to put her in the spotlight. There are several other candidates positioned as serious options for Benvolio early on, each coded heavily as a different “type” of woman: The seductress, the guy's girl, the wholesome girl next door packaged as “wife material”. The first time Rosaline even appears in an episode again after the first night is during the chocolate-making date, but most of their dialogue has been cut to only show Benvolio's chocolate-based analysis of her character, and Rosaline rolls her eyes at the predictability of it. Of course the showrunners had no interest in the parts of their conversation that showed her as an actual person with opinions – the only value she has in the scene is as a prop to show Benvolio as a sensitive guy, capable of fundamentally understanding any woman based on just a few short conversations.

Many of his interactions with the other women are presented the same way: They skew heavily in favor of showing some aspect of his character, with the woman's character no more than an afterthought. More important than what the women have to say is what they're wearing, if they play well with the other contestants and, most importantly: How aggressive they are willing to be in their efforts to get "Mister Right's" attention.

Much is made of who gets to kiss him first, who flirts the most overtly, who manages to snag his attention for a one-on-one moment. This early, Benvolio seems to enjoy himself exactly as much as she suspected, shamelessly bathing in the light of the contestants' adoration and taking up all but the most subtle invitations to get more intimately acquainted. By episode three, Rosaline has stopped counting how many women he has kissed, and is almost ready to forget everything she's learned about him and go back to her former opinions of him.

But then, subtly, something shifts: Benvolio acts more reserved on his dates and one-on-one conversations, less flirtatious, and much less prone to kissing everyone in his path – and finally, Rosaline realizes what's behind the change in his demeanour: Their conversation the first night he snuck into her room, when she told him just how the producers are getting the contestants to make all those personal advances.

And just like that, she knows once again that the man she knows to be a good person now was always there, even when she couldn't see it – while at the same time getting to watch as her on-screen version is starting to see exactly that.

At first, of course, it's quite obvious – at least to herself – that she was less than impressed with Benvolio, which the narrator gleefully points out in a voiceover that manages to paint her as an impossible-to-please shrew with just a few well-crafted words. What follows that judgment is her challenge during the fencing date, when she dared to suggest that maybe “Mister Right” ought to put in some work to impress the women too, and not just the other way around. But while the show does its damnedest to present this as an unforgivable transgression, Rosaline can't help but notice that it still shows through how very much Benvolio did not mind – how he even enjoyed himself during her challenge.

Even after that, the editing continues to try and show her in a bad light, commenting gleefully on the fact that all she had to say about Benvolio's bodypainting efforts was “I like it” - and this after a montage of clips that lingered lovingly on the effort Benvolio put into his work, not to mention framed the moment as a sensual experience that should have left her weak in the knees. (Which, a traitorous part of her suggests, it actually did, even if the producers didn't know.)

Still, the showrunners seem to find it more and more difficult to paint her as some kind of harpy, especially since Benvolio continues to be unfazed by any of her challenges, unflinchingly sweet and kind, like he was when she read those mean comments and he kept her from having a complete breakdown on camera. Just like she thought it would be, the moment is exploited to make him look gallant and caring, but even as she's spotting the manipulation, Rosaline can't help but feel moved by the memory of the moment: A moment that showed her she had an ally she could trust in, which was only reinforced when Benvolio came to see her that night. She doesn't need to see that moment on screen to remember how much it meant, how much safer it made her feel.

In a rare example of the show actually managing to capture bits of reality, that shift in their relationship begins to shine through in the finished episode. Their date at the spa shows her relaxed, smiling, letting herself be pampered and making easy conversation with Benvolio. The skydiving date shows all the exhilaration of making that jump, the electrifying angstlust of it that found its release in their first on-screen kiss – a kiss she still remembers clearly, despite the ones that followed it.

And then, watching _does_ become gradually more difficult: Because once Benvolio has kissed her, bestowed that coveted sign of his interest that marks her as a viable candidate, the show's narrative for her changes. In true fairytale fashion, that one kiss turns her from nagging harpy to beautiful princess, with the soft lighting and flattering editing to match (even if she doesn't always display the proper decorum, like when she spontaneously starts her little pool party). And the result of that change in direction paired with the change in her opinion of Benvolio is... well, mostly, it's a lot of shots of Benvolio looking at her softly, smiling languidly, kissing her like he just can't help himself, and Rosaline finds it harder and harder to remind herself that _It's. Not. Real._

By the time she's finally made it through the last episode before the finale, the one with their date at the nightclub and the scavenger hunt through the city, Rosaline needs a drink. Because the state she's in, the only thing she feels like doing is obsessively rewatching their scenes to try and find how much of it is editing and how much truth. But that would mean wasting valuable time she should spend on her article, not to mention possibly signal that she's going more than a little mad.

And after all, it's not just writing left on her to-do-list: There's a friend she has to call, to ask for a favor and make sure she can keep calling her a friend even after the dust has cleared.

She hasn't spoken to Helena since she left the show, of course, and so Rosaline is happy to hear from her friend – and even happier that Helena sounds just as pleased to hear from her.

“Rosaline! You're allowed to call me?” But as soon as she's asked the question, Helena seems to have guessed the answer. “Wait, does that mean shooting is over?” And, on an excited gasp: “Did you get together? You did, didn't you? I _knew_ it would be you!”

“You know I'm not allowed to tell you how the show ended...”

“Oh, psh – the finale airs tomorrow, and I'm not going to tell anyone before then. Please?”

Even without the puppy eyes she knows she would be seeing if Helena was here right now, Rosaline finds it hard to resist the plea.

“Alright. We did end the season together.”

This is rewarded by an excited shriek that makes Rosaline hasten to hold her phone far away from her ear.

“I knew it! Did he propose? Is the ring gorgeous? Did you cry?”

Rosaline can't help but smile at her friend's excitement – although only for a moment, before she realizes she'll have to put an end to it.

“He did not propose, so there was no ring. That's not... it's not where we're at right now. In fact...”

Rosaline takes a deep breath: This is the moment of truth. In order to get Helena's input for her article, she'll have to tell her why she was on the show in the first place – and risk alienating someone she thought might have become a true friend.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

“That sounds ominous,” Helena observes, voice still tinged with amusement rather than worry, and Rosaline's stomach sinks further. But there's no way around it now – soon, Helena will find out the truth anyway, and Rosaline would at least prefer it to be coming from her.

“Benvolio and I didn't just meet on the show. We knew each other before. And we didn't come onto the show to find love. We came there to find out what exactly happens behind the scenes, and to write an article about it. And frankly, I think it's an article that needs to be written, after the shit they put us through.”

Belatedly, Rosaline realizes that she's already on the defensive before even giving Helena a chance to take in the news – and of course, before she's even so much as apologized for lying to her.

“And I'm really sorry I couldn't tell you about it sooner.”

There's silence at the other end of the line – not unexpected, given the craziness of what she just confessed, but still enough to make her nervous.

“Are you saying you were some sort of... undercover spy?”

“I mean, I guess the technical term would be investigative journalist... but yes, basically.”

“Wow.” Another pause, which Rosaline doesn't interrupt because she figures Helena deserves some time to let everything sink in.

“Have you already published your article?”

“No, I'm working on it right now. I want to publish it after the finale has aired.”

“And what's it going to be about? Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

“I did. The whole idea started when I read rumours about how the contestants are mistreated and manipulated by the showrunners to get those scandalous episodes. And once I became a contestant, I experienced just that – and so did you. And I think that needs to be made public. The show suggests to viewers that it's all real when in reality, it's all manipulated, staged and edited – and done in a way that, frankly, throws feminism back several decades. And I understand it if you're mad at me now for lying to you, but I hope you can understand why I did it.”

This time, there's no pause, no hesitation.

“I do understand. And I think you're right. The way that show is run, what the contestants are put through – it's insane, and it's wrong. After I left, every time I watched an episode, all I could think was “I wonder what really happened.” I sat there wondering what they threatened you with to make you behave like that, or how much they gave to drink, or what the producers told you beforehand to mess with your head. So I think you're right to do what you're doing.”

“Oh thank God!”, Rosaline blurts out, genuinely relieved. Out of anyone on the show, she would hate to permanently alienate her one friend among the contestants once the article drops. “I was so worried you'd be mad. And I promise, I won't make any of you look bad. In fact, I'll mostly limit it to my own experiences. Except... well, I would like to include your story. I wouldn't say which of the contestants I'm talking about, but I'd like to tell people how they threatened to out you. If you're okay with that. And if you're not, I won't include it, of course.”

“What about Isabella? I don't want her to lose her job.”

“She won't. I don't need to go into that much detail, just the bare bones of your story – realizing you're into women on the show, wanting to leave, being blackmailed by the producers into staying...”

“...and saved by Benvolio... and you of course.”

“I don't think I'll have to go into that either.”

“So, how are you going to portray him in your article?”

“As accurately as I can without writing any lies or getting him in trouble.”

“Won't he be in trouble anyway, once the article comes out? I mean, once the producers find out he was in on it?”

“They won't find out. There's no need to tell them he was involved. He can keep that prize money and keep being the nation's most eligible bachelor.”

“So you're protecting him? That's really sweet.”

“Well, the whole thing was my idea – Benvolio was kind of dragged along. He doesn't deserve to go down with me. Who knows, they might ask him to come back for another season, see if they can't find him the perfect woman to heal his broken heart.”

She said it as a joke, but she can't help a little bit of bitterness sneaking in towards the end. The thought isn't all that out there – rejected contestants have come back before on later seasons. Why not a rejected "Mister Right"? But the thought of how such a show would position that story, with her as the bad guy, makes her voice turn bitter. And of course, Helena notices.

“So you'll take full responsibility? You know that means they'll come after you with everything they've got.”

“I know. But we prepared for this – legally, they can't touch me. And everything else... well, better it hits just one of us, right?”

“Oh Rosaline, honestly, your heart just may be too big for your own good.”

“You're one to talk,” Rosaline laughs, but she's genuinely moved – and genuinely relieved that her fledgling friendship with Helena might just survive the coming storm. “Thank you, so much. For letting me include your story, and for not being mad that I lied to you. I'm really happy I got to know you on the show.”

“Me too! And of course I'll help – you and Benvolio helped me get off the show, after all. It's the least I can do. But I have to say, I am a little mad – I was really rooting for you two to get together.”

“Well. You can always watch the fictional version of it when the finale airs.”

“Yes, but it won't be the same, knowing it was all fake. I don't know...” there's a pause, thoughtful enough to make Rosaline nervous again. “I just sometimes thought that there was something real between the two of you. The way he looks at you...” Helena cuts herself off with a laugh. “Look at me, getting all sentimental over your fake love story. I'm sorry, it's none of my business how things really are between the two of you.”

Rosaline doesn't protest, but she also doesn't want to keep talking to yet another person about the way Benvolio supposedly looks at her – not when the thought makes her stomach feel weird and her heart swoop with what feels suspiciously like hope.

“Besides, you've got your own love story out of the show! How's Isabella?”

“I have no idea. The whole crew is holed up in the editing-room for the finale. She basically only texts me to let me know she's alive. But she has said that she's looking forward to seeing me again.”

“So I'm guessing you won't be answering the phone for a few days after the finale airs,” Rosaline teases, and Helena laughs.

“That's the plan at least. But still, keep me posted on what happens next, okay? With the article or Benvolio or whatever.”

Rosaline decides to ignore the mention of Benvolio along with the "whatever".

“I'll send you the article to read in advance, okay?”

“I can't wait!”

And with her unruly thoughts somewhat tamed and Helena's permission to bring up her story in the article, Rosaline has everything she needs to get to work on that article.

For the next two days, Rosaline writes. She writes through phone calls and text messages from friends and fellow Gazette members, writes through a new teaser video for the finale published on the show's facebook page and the inevitable thought of what it might show, to which new lows it will inspire people. The only time she stops writing is in order to eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, or send a text to Livia and Juliet to let them know she's okay and still busy writing.

She writes like a madwoman, fingers flying over the keyboard, and manages to send a finished draft to Helana and Benvolio the very next day, having promised both of them they'd get to read it before she sends it on to the Gazette. Both give their okay for her to publish it, and so does Escalus when she sends it on to him for his final okay.

By the time the finale airs, Rosaline's article is cleared, fact-checked, proofread and ready to drop – and with one click, it goes online just as the last shiny, softly-lit shot of the finale fades to black. Tweeting out a link to the article on the account she created before coming on the show, which has already gained tons of followers without even featuring all that much content, means that some alert superfans discover and retweet it within minutes. Soon after that, the gossip sites have picked it up, and then Rosaline gets to watch live as the visitor count on the Gazette's website rises meteorically.

Yes, she thinks with satisfaction, people are learning the truth about their favourite show, and they're spreading the word.

Everyone who watched the producers' version of her story now has her own version of it too – and maybe, after the dust has settled, she'll finally get a chance to figure out some truths of her own; like the truth about those moments between her and Benvolio that seemed to exist outside the narrow frame of the show. Maybe those moments make up _their_ story – and maybe, she thinks with a flutter of stupid, stubborn hope, maybe that story isn't over yet.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I managed to write myself into a corner where literally all that happens is conversations... but maybe some of those turn out to be important in the end?

When Rosaline wakes up the next morning and checks the article's hit count, the number is staggering – and so is the number of comments beneath it, reaching into the hundreds already. As are the retweets, reblogs, articles, reaction videos and blog entries all over the internet. It's... a little more than she expected, honestly. And in tone, it's also a lot _worse_ than she expected.

There are some comments lauding her for uncovering the show's dark side, agreeing with her take on its misogynistic tendencies – but there are a lot more chewing her out for lying to Mister Right. Clearly, she underestimated Benvolio's fanbase, because they are outnumbering her own by far. And after just watching Benvolio make heart-eyes at her on their screens the night before, they are pissed.

Rosaline broke a good, innocent man's heart, they believe, manipulated him into choosing her with lies and deception and, possibly, some kind of black magic only to drop him like a hot potatoe for her article.

She figured it would play out like this – but she did not expect how violent the reactions would be. The third comment is already loaded with expletives, and it doesn't take much scrolling for the first comment telling her to kill herself. The next one suggests that someone else should do that particular job, and another one a few comments down just reads:

“ _We will find you, and we will make you pay.”_

This one makes her freeze completely, heart thundering in her chest. She's trying to tell herself that this is just what comments on the internet are like now, full of bluster and empty violence, but empty or not, there's a lot of violence.

Rosaline keeps scrolling through the comments, binge-reading them with such deranged focus that she nearly jumps off the sofa when her phone buzzes with a message.

“ _Capulet, are you okay?“_

Rosaline groans and sets aside her phone again. She's in no mood to deal with Benvolio now.

But no more than ten seconds later, her phone buzzes again, ringing this time – and not stopping until she finally picks it up.

“What?”

It's Benvolio of course, with that same teeth-grinding tenacity he's shown before – and, as his voice immediately makes it clear, he's not going to be brushed off.

“Where are you? There are threatening comments under your article. Please tell me you're somewhere safe.“

He sounds almost frantic, and Rosaline hastens to reassure him.

“I'm safe. I'm home, I've locked the door, and Juliet made me alert campus security so they'll keep an eye on my building.”

“Good. Is she with you now?”

“No.”

That seems to send him right back to worrying.

“So you're _alone_?”

“Only for a few days – Juliet made plans for a trip with a friend, ages ago before we even knew the schedule of the show, and I didn't want to ask her to cancel them. Besides... I think I need to be alone right now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I'll just hole up here for a day or two, until things have calmed down again.”

“If that's what you think is best...” Benvolio's voice suggests he himself does not think this is best at all. “But if any of those creeps actually show up at your building, you call the police, and then you call me, okay?”

Rosaline rolls her eyes. “Okay. Geez, don't you think you're being a little dramatic?”

But Benvolio is in no mood to joke, it seems.

“No. I think we should do everything we can to make sure you're safe.”

“I am safe.”

“What about the network, have they contacted you yet?”

“I haven't heard a word from them. I guess they're currently holed up with their lawyers, trying to figure out how to stop me. Or, more likely, they're planning a smear campaign to discredit me.”

“Probably both,” Benvolio guesses, then sighs heavily. “Rosaline... I'm worried.”

“I told you....”

“Not about your physical safety, for now at least. But I worry that we've bitten off more than we can chew with this article. Those comments are brutal – and I'm starting to get afraid of what the network's legal team will come up with.”

“We planned for that, Benvolio. We checked – they can't keep me from writing about the show as long as the facts are right and I didn't take any monetary compensation, i.e. keep the ring. And since you didn't propose...”

“You didn't take anything.”

“Exactly. So we'll sit tight and wait and it'll be fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if you're not...”

“I am sure.

There's silence on the other end of the line, a silence of thoughts and decisions, Rosaline guesses.

Then another small sigh.

“Alright. We'll wait and see what happens.“

“Exactly.“ Another pause, during which Rosaline doesn't know what to say. There's nothing more to say about their current situation, at least for now – but still, Rosaline feels reluctant to simply hang up.

“Well, I...”, she starts, at the same time Benvolio says:

“I guess you...”

They both break off, their words drifting off on a confused chuckle.

"I should go.”

“Right,” Benvolio says. “Talk to you later then.”

But just when she thinks that concludes the conversation, Benvolio speaks up once more.

“Oh, and Capulet?”

“What?”

“It's a great article.”

“Thank you.”

It's simple praise, straightforward, but when she actually does hang up and return to the comments section, it gives her just the boost she needs not to let the harsh comments get to her.

***

 

Unfortunately, the fallout from her article doesn't stay contained to the internet for long. The next morning, Rosaline decides that taking her bicycle out for a spin might be just the right thing to blow off some steam – but she doesn't even make it past the lobby.

Coming down the stairs, she can already hear an unusual clamour outside the door, excited voices that don't usually occur at this time in the morning, when most other students are still fast asleep. But it's not students making the noise, she quickly realizes: there's a gaggle of people standing around outside the door, many of them holding cameras – and all of them turning, as one, towards her when she comes within view of the building's glass doors.

She stops dead in her tracks, her mind and body seeming to freeze at the same time.

From the side, the security guard from the night shift approaches.

“I'm sorry, Miss, it's been like this all morning. If you like, I could show you how to get out through the maintenance entry.”

Rosaline turns her head and steps closer towards him, and outside, a storm of camera flashes go goes off.

The security guard's eyes widen in understanding.

“They're here because of you?”

Rosaline nods.

“Yes. I'm so sorry. I don't know how they got my address...”

“Nevermind that now. Let's see how we can get you outside without being seen. You should not have to go through there.”

“I don't really need to go outside, not urgently. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She shoots him a shaky smile, forcing herself to show appreciation for his concern even through the haze of shock. “I'll just go back upstairs. But would you mind making sure they can't come in here? Some might try to sneak in somehow.”

The security guard nods, then walks over to the elevator and presses the button, which Rosaline is grateful for – she isn't sure if her legs would actually take her all the way up to her apartment on the third floor right now.

“Of course. I'll keep an eye out for anyone who doesn't belong here.”

Another grateful smile, then Rosaline steps onto the elevator, watching the flashes go off one more time before the door closes.

She's only now starting to process what is happening: There's a horde of paparazzi and camera crews camped outside her door, waiting to pounce on her. Which means that someone tipped them off about where she lives – on purpose.

That has to be what happened, because when they signed up for the show, the producers told them that they would do what they could to protect their privacy, and that there were measures they should take themselves to remain safe once the show takes off. They were instructed to remove any information from their social media accounts that would make it possible to localize them throughout their daily life: their address, house, neighbourhood, workplace, favourite hangouts... They even had to make sure their name and address would be taken off official listings. And Rosaline remembers that they were very thorough in that part of the project, following the show's instructions to the letter. There was no information on her whereabouts to be found when she got on the show – and yet, somehow, people have found her now. The question is: Is it only the press and the paparazzi who got that particular information, or do other people know where she lives too? Do the ones who read her article, the ones who have wished all kinds of physical harm upon her in the comments section?

The elevator comes to a stop and Rosaline gets off, fumbling her keys out of her jacket pocket as she walks towards her apartment. She drops them first, and then it takes her several tries before she's finally fumbled the right key into the lock because her hands are shaking so badly.

Inside, she makes sure to lock and bolt the door and immediately close the blinds before she sits down on the sofa. She should probably make some kind of plan, figure out what to do – but all she can come up with is taking out her phone to text Benvolio about what happened. He _did_ ask her to keep him updated, after all.

Of course, she regrets that decision almost immediately, because it doesn't take more than a few seconds for Benvolio to call.

“How could they have found out? Are you safe now? Are they in your building? Is someone with you?”

His rapidfire questions remind her of the day he described himself as a mother hen, and Rosaline has to smile – he really is quite the worrier.

“They're outside. I've asked the doorman to be careful not to let any of them in, and I've locked the door. As long as I don't go out, I should be okay.”

“So what happens if you do want to go out?”

“I don't know. But Juliet stocked up my fridge just before we returned, so I should be good for a while.”

“Want me to come over, keep you company?”

The offer is tempting: Benvolio would know just what dumb joke to make to cheer her up; he'd tell her ridiculous stories and smile at her until she'd completely forget that there's even a world outside the apartment, let alone one filled with hateful strangers and ruthless paparazzi.

But of course, those paparazzi would have a field day if “Mister Right” himself showed up at her door right now, and the last thing she wants is for Benvolio to get harrassed too.

With a sigh, she resigns herself to waiting out the siege alone.

“You know you can't. They'd be all over you if they saw you here.”

“I could figure out a disguise. I still have last year's Halloween costume in my closet.”

It must be a sign of how much she wishes he was here that Rosaline actually considers the idea.

“What was the costume?”

“Zombie pirate.”

Rosaline has to laugh.

“A _zombie pirate_? _That's_ your idea of not drawing attention?”

“I could say there's a costume party in your building that some friends have invited me to...”

“Because they're going to believe _that_.” She sighs softly. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid you showing up here is only going to rile them up even more. I'll just wait it out – they have to lose interest at some point, right?”

“If you say so.”

Benvolio doesn't sound convinced.

“I mean, at the very least, they'll forget about us when the next season starts.”

Benvolio laughs. “Aren't you optimistic today.”

“I'm sure it will pass.”

“And if it does – I mean, if things get worse – you call me, okay?”

“Stop making such a fuss, Montague – I can handle this. Anyway, I need to get back to work.”

“What work?”

“Replying to comments, of course.”

“You're not seriously going to expose yourself to that shit-tornado?”

“It's _Gazette_ policy – whoever writes an article replies to the comments.”

“Not when the comments are all from hateful trolls! Our esteemed editor-in-chief should assign someone else to deal with that, not let you do it!”

“It's not that bad – some of the commenters have genuine questions. I want to reply to those.”

“Why would you want to do that to yourself?”

“I just don't want people to think I'm only doing this for the attention. I said I wanted to spark a conversation – anyone who wants to join that conversation in a respectful way is welcome to do so.”

Benvolio remains silent for a moment, then he scoffs.

“You know, you really are something else, Capulet.”

It isn't exactly worded like a compliment – but there's something in his voice that makes it sound like one anyway.

“One of us has to take this seriously, you know.”

“I _am_ taking it seriously. So if those crazies outside the door don't scatter anytime soon, if you need anything, you _tell_ me, okay?”

“I will,” she says, voice soft and stomach clenching, and then immediately feels silly. What the hell has come over her? She didn't even like him a few weeks ago, and now suddenly she hasn't seen him for a few days and she's turning into a simpering mess just because he's on the phone?

Pathetic.

“I'm serious, Montague. The comment section is calling.”

“Want me to take over the bad part of that comment section? Because I'd like to have a conversation with those people in particular, and I have a few choice words lined up already.”

He sounds grim and determined and... protective, and Rosaline's insides flutter again. There's a good chance that she's actually gone crazy from being on that stupid show.

“Stay out of my conversation. _And_ out of trouble. You're a star now, remember? The nation's most eligible bachelor. The son-in-law every mother dreams of. You'd better stay true to that reputation.”

“Just go back to your comment section and stop making fun of me.”

Rosaline hangs up with a laugh.

***

 

Oddly enough, answering comments proves to be less traumatising than Rosaline expected. Mercutio texts her that the _Gazette_ team decided to intervene and start deleting the most obvious troll comments, which means she gets shielded from some of the hate. The criticism that remains is still harsh enough, but at least some of it is criticim she can answer to, try and explain herself.

So she replies, explains, gets into the occasional discussion – and finds, to her relief, that some people are genuinely interested in such an exchange, and not just in tearing her down. In a way, it's a relief to bury herself in the comments, because it makes it easier not to think about anything past the article: Not the fact that there are paparazzi camped out outside her building, not the thought of what this entire thing will do for her future, in the short and long term, and certainly not the fact that she has a tendency to go all soft and gooey inside whenever Benvolio does or says something considerate.

And then, at some point during the afternoon, the doorbell rings to remind her of the one thing she has actually found it startlingly easy not to think about.

At first, the sound of the doorbell makes her nearly go into panic mode, hand clutching her phone as she slowly approaches the door – only to relax again when she hears a voice from the other side.

“Rosaline? Are you in there?“

For a moment, Rosaline thinks she's misheard, or perhaps that she's having some sort of stress-induced hallucination - but when she looks through the spyhole, the person outside is exactly who she suspected, and she quickly opens the door.

" _Escalus_? How did you get in here? Campus Security promised they wouldn't let anyone in who doesn't live here.”

“I proved that I'm your editor-in-chief and said that I needed to talk to you on _Gazette_ -business.”

“And do you?” She steps aside to let him in, freezing in motion as something occurs to her. “Are the others at the _Gazette_ getting shit for my article too?”

“No, nothing like that. My inbox is getting flooded and, well, you've seen the comments section. But no one else is being harassed privately.”

Rosaline nods, running shaky hands through her hair. It hasn't occurred to her so far that the others at the Gazette may be suffering the fallout for her article, and she's relieved to hear that doesn't seem to be the case.

“Okay, good.” For one confused moment, Rosaline wonders what the hell he's doing here then – then it occurs to her to just ask. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I needed to talk to you.”

“Is there a problem with the article? Besides, you know...” she gestures vaguely towards the window, below which she knows there's still a horde of hungry reporters and paparazzi camped out, “the obvious.”

“No, no. It has nothing to do with the article. It's...” he seems nervous suddenly, which is an odd look on him – Rosaline doesn't think she's ever seen Escalus any other way than composed and confident. “I wanted to talk about... us.”

Rosaline doesn't know what to say to that unexpected reveal – because, she suddenly realizes, the fact that she and Escalus were on their way to becoming an “us” has been pushed so far to the back of her mind recently that she pretty much forgot about it.

But apparently, Escalus has not.

“The thing is, watching you with another man made me realize just how strong my feelings for you are." He steps closer to take her hands. "Rosaline, you are an amazing woman and I want to be with you. Properly."

" _Properly_? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I want to take you on dates, tell the _Gazette_ -staff about us, introduce you to my parents... No more sneaking around. No more hiding behind the assignment."

The assignment. Which she has already completed and published, and which has earned the _Gazette_ a bunch of traffic and hundreds of new followers on social media since she published it two days ago. Which means…

"So, you realised all this while watching me on the show, but you waited to tell me until the assignment was published?"

Escalus nods, clearly missing the hard edge to her voice as it sinks in: Despite his words, she's still second place behind the _Gazette_ in his priorities, and she doubts that will ever change.

“I didn't want to distract you. But now that it's finished, we can be together.”

"But it's _not_ finished. Not for me."

Escalus' eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean you and Benvolio…?"

Rosaline's jaw drops, astonishment mixing with rising anger. _That_ is what he chooses to focus on here? _Jealousy_?

"I mean that I'm still the woman who jilted the most popular "Mister Right" in television history. I'm still getting death threats, I've still got paparazzi camping out outside my building. And you're telling me you want to _date_ me, publicly? _Now_?!"

"I mean, we don't have to go public right away…"

"You only want to stake your claim now, is that it?"

"I want to tell you that I'm in love with you!"

She imagined him saying those very words, daydreaming about it between shifts at the coffee shop and all-nighters at the library – but now that he has, she can't enjoy the moment like she imagined, because everything about it is _wrong_ : He shouldn't be saying this now, asking things of her without considering the consequences. And he certainly shouldn't be saying it only because he's afraid that the last time a man declared his feelings for her, it might have stuck.

All of it is so wrong, and so very much not about her, that the only thing Rosaline feels when the man she thought she wanted tells her he loves her – is anger.

"You know, I don't need this right now. I don't need you to take me on dates or introduce me to your family when the entire nation is watching every step I take. If anything, I would have needed you to tell me about this before I went on the show. If you had given me any sign that you'd want us to be more after the show was over, I would have been ecstatic. I would have been ready to become more the moment I returned. But you didn't. You told me to focus on the assignment."

"I… I only wanted to make things easier for you." Escalus' defense sounds so sincere she's sure it's what he really believes – but it doesn't feel true to her.

"No. You wanted to make things easier for _yourself_.”

Escalus' face falls at the words, harsh and angry, and as suddenly as it came, Rosaline feels the anger drain from her again.

“You wanted to be editor-in-chief first and be with me second. And that's okay. But it's not enough for me. Because I want to be someone's first priority, or nothing at all. And I don't think your priorities are going to change anytime soon."

“Rosaline...”

He steps closer, reaching out and still unable to let her go, but Rosaline shakes her head. Now that the words are out, there's no more taking them back, no more changing her mind.

“I'm serious. Please just go.”

For a moment, it seems like Escalus wants to protest some more – but instead, he nods resignedly and turns to the door, only speaking up once more just before he leaves.

“I'm sorry things turned out like this.”

Then he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him before she can figure out what to reply, and it only occurs to Rosaline now what they didn't speak about: The possibility that her own priorities may have changed too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know Escalus came across incredibly dickish this chapter, and I swear I don't set out trying to make him look bad - it's just that, on the show, he actually was being such a dick to Rosaline, even if he was otherwise trying to be a good man. Clearly, I have not forgiven him for that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, this is 6k words of Rosaline being confused and in love and Benvolio being soft and supportive. And I already know that it might leave some of you frustrated, but I regret nothing. Also, I listened to a lot of Hozier ("Wasteland, Baby" is the soundtrack to this chapter), and it may have influenced the chapter a little bit in terms of emotional and literary grandeur.

The next morning, the paparazzi are still there, almost spotting her when she leans out of her window to make sure the coast is clear. It's anything but – the narrow sidewalk between the building and the parking lot is still packed with reporters and photographers.

Rosaline sinks back onto the sofa with a resigned sigh – looks like she'll spend another day trapped in here. And really, it's not like she hasn't done this before, for the occasional all-nighter. But between marathon-watching the show, writing her article, and fielding phone calls all from the safety of her sofa, she could do with a change of scenery by now.

Well, maybe tomorrow.

She's just about to get up and make herself a cup of coffee – her last good one before she'll have to start rationing, she suspects – when the doorbell rings.

Just like the day before, the sound immediately sets Rosaline on edge. Did one of the reporters make it upstairs? Has Escalus come back for another uncomfortable conversation? She isn't even sure which option sounds less appealing right now.

But when Rosaline peers through the spyhole, she sees an unexpected but definitely more welcome face.

“Mercutio?” 

The door swings open and Mercutio rushes in, energetic as always.

“Rosaline, babe, I heard you were under siege but I had not idea it was this bad. We gotta get you out of here, stat.” 

“It's not _that_ bad...”, Rosaline protests weakly, but Mercutio cuts her off with just one skeptical look. 

"Honey, you are aware that you're the nation's most hated person right now, right? The way people see it, you lied to their beloved “Mister Right” and broke his heart for an article. Granted, part of that is Ben's fault. If he hadn't done such a damn good job looking stupidly in love with you…"

Normally, Rosaline would jump at the chance to place some blame for this mess on Benvolio – but now, something inside her stumbles at the idea that he could _actually_ be… But no, she reminds herself, it's like Mercutio said: He simply did a very good job acting like he's in love with her.

Besides, this is _not_ what she should concentrate on right now.

"You really think it's that serious?“ It's a stupid question – she can see the answer still camped out outside her window. But apparently, a part of her is still clinging to the hope that this will all magically blow over soon.

"I've caused my fair share of outrage during my time at the _Gazette_ , but this? This is a whole new dimension. I just don't want you to get hurt over something we should have seen coming."

It's downright scary to see Mercutio of all people so serious, and it is this that finally drives it home just how much she needs help. 

"Alright. Thank you."

“Now, here's the plan", Mercutio explains as he starts steering her towards her bedroom, “You pack some comfy clothes and whatever else you need, and I'll play _your_ Mister Right for today and whisk you away.” 

Rosaline is already getting out a canvas bag when it occurs to her to ask:

“Whisk me away where?” 

“To a secret, magical hiding-place.” 

Rosaline only raises her eyebrows, too morning-grumpy for his theatrics.

“My family has a cabin by the lake. It's the perfect place for you to lay low for a little while. It's on a private property, secluded, fenced-in with a full security system, and it's got all the necessary amenities – boathouse, jacuzzi, fully stocked bar...” 

“Are you planning on sending me to some kind of filthy bachelor pad?” 

“ _Bachelor pad_? Please, Rosie-Girl, don't be tacky. I don't need a flashy bachelor pad to show my guests a good time.” 

“So what are the jacuzzi and the bar for?”

“Alright, I admit – we've had a few great parties up there. But we mostly use the place to relax – it really is nice. My parents still go up there a couple times a year, but at the moment, they're yachting in the Mediterranean, so the place is free. You can stay there as long as you need.” 

He may have couched it in a lot of jokes and swagger, but the offer is real, and Rosaline can't help but be moved by it. And perhaps he's right – perhaps getting away from this craziness for a few days is just what she needs.

An hour later, Rosaline is huddling down under a bunch of blankets in the backseat of Mercutio's car as they drive away from her dorm building, trying to escape without being spotted by any reporters.

Not for the first time, Rosaline wonders how on earth her life got to this. Could they really have seen this coming? _Should_ they have? But then, who would have expected that freaking _Benvolio Montague_ would be so popular as to inspire an online uprising in his name?

No one, that is.

So maybe she can console herself with the thought that in a way, all of this is kind of Benvolio's fault.

*******

 

The cabin Mercutio promised her is gorgeous and quiet and just what Rosaline needs – for about half a day. Then Mercutio has to head back to the city, and Rosaline is suddenly alone in the quiet cabin – alone with her thoughts, a big-screen television, and an astonishingly good internet connection. 

It doesn't take long for her to descend back into another spiral of reading articles and comments and watching youtube reaction videos, and soon enough, Rosaline is right back to wondering with a hint of panic if she just actually ruined her life.

Which is why, when the bell on the property's gate rings, she's not exactly in the best mindest for a visitor – and, fresh off a best-of video of her and Benvolio's scenes on the show followed by a binge-read of the hateful comments below it, Rosaline is definitely not ready for this particular visitor. Because peering up at the security camera with a little wave is none other than the man of the hour himself, the martyr to her duplicity.

With a sigh, Rosaline buzzes him in through the gate and opens the door to meet him.

"Juliet says not to let you hang around alone too long”, Benvolio explains without so much as a greeting. “She says you might start moping."

"I'm not moping, I'm hiding. Which _Mercutio_ told me to do."

"Yeah, Jules knew that. But while she obviously supports the hiding, she sent me to tell you that you're not allowed to mope. You're supposed to relax."

"Right. Great idea. I'll just ignore the fact that there are people out there who want me dead and _relax_."

It only occurs to her now to wonder since when Benvolio and her cousin are apparently such good friends, and what exactly Juliet is playing at - although, judging by her and Livia's very unsubtle hints, she has a feeling she can guess at the bare bones of their plan.

"Yes. That's exactly what we'll do."

Benvolio says it like the most obvious thing in the world, but there's one little word Rosaline's mind can't help but get caught on.

" _We_?"

"Obviously, I'll be staying. Like I said, Juliet ordered me to. Besides," he pushes past her into the hallway and is suddenly very close, "we're in this together, remember?"

“In that case, I'd gladly share some of my new online friends.” 

She has no intention to, of course, and there's no reason for the sharpness to her voice either, but something about having him suddenly here is putting her on edge.

Because, she realizes, he's been present in very different ways the past few days: There's been the tv version of him during her rewatch, chivalrous and romantic and every inch the perfect catch the show sells every one of its “Mister Right”-characters as, no matter how far from the truth. There's been the version of him she remembers as real, or at the very least, less artificially sweetened by the show, an ally and a friend and someone who makes her feel like somehow, things will work themselves out. There's been his presence on the phone or in his regular messages urging her to check in and tell him if things got worse, an anchor in the storm that is threatening to sweep her life away. Really, it's no wonder she's been wishing he was here with her those horrible few days – but now that he is, she isn't sure how to act.

But while Rosaline is feeling increasingly awkward suddenly facing the flesh-and-blood reality of what has got to be three different but equally overblown fantasies, Benvolio is casual as ever, stopping (still jitter-inducingly close) before her to look her up and down.

"Charming as ever, I see – I've missed you, Capulet."

He says it with a teasing edge to his voice, but her stomach does a little flip nonetheless.

"It's been five days."

"Five days where no one has rolled their eyes at me. It's been weird."

Rosaline promptly rolls her eyes, and Benvolio looks inordinately pleased.

"Plus, things have been getting a little crazy, and you're the only one who understands just how that feels."

That immediately puts her on edge.

"Have you been getting the same crap as me?"

"Not exactly the same - at least I haven't been getting any death threats."

"What have you been getting then?"

She may be imagining it, but he looks a teensy little bit embarrassed.

"Panties, among other things."

" _Panties_?!"

"Panties, chocolates, perfumed letters, tasteful nudes... Some fans are very creative."

Rosaline shakes her head, incredulous, and Benvolio explains:

"I came home to find three boxes of fanmail in my apartment, with a note from the assistant that they'd checked it for security threats and removed the panties, but that I'd be welcome to collect them if I wanted to. I took a pass on that one."

"Incredible."

"I mean, it wasn't all panties and crazy stalkers. Some of it were genuinely nice letters. A lot of them were moms asking me to ditch you in favor of their daughters." He grins. "I've thanked them for the offer but told them I would stay faithful to you."

"I'm starting to think we should have done _Mrs. Right_ instead, then I'd be the one getting love letters and presents."

 _Mrs. Right_ is a spin-off of the show with a flipped premise: One woman, twenty-five male suitors. It's every bit as cheesy as the original, but she's sure that ”Mrs. Right“ never got death threats.

Benvolio only laughs.

"Twenty-five men spending all their time trying to impress you while looking good for the cameras? You would have hated that even more."

She can't really argue with that, she has to admit - plus, she would have been even more in the spotlight then. Which, much as Benvolio tries to pretend it was, could not have been easy. Even now, she's fairly sure he's downplaying the pressure brought on by his recent fame. After all, the studio thought it necessary to check his fanmail for threats. And what was that he said?

"So, the production team thinks there might be security threats in your fanmail? What kind of threats - stalkers?"

"Well, no one's been physically stalking me so far - the studio has been very careful about hiding my address, unlike yours. But some of the letters from my female fans are very... intense."

"Should we be worried about that? Female stalkers can just as easily turn violent as male ones."

Oddly, this makes him smile.

"I think we're good, for now. But I appreciate you looking out for me."

Oh. So that was the meaning behind the smile - and behind the look that went with it and that still lingers on his face, so warm she finds herself blushing.

"We're in this together, right?" There, she thinks – he can't possibly make fun of her now when she's repeating his own words.

And he doesn't make fun of her anymore. Instead, he turns towards the bag on the counter beside him and starts taking out stuff – fresh vegetables, two juicy steaks, a tub of ice-cream he hands to her.

“Damn right we are. Now put this in the freezer, will you?“ 

“You brought food? Mercutio said he stocked up.“ 

“Which means there's plenty of junk food and booze.“ He pauses, ponders for a moment. “Good booze, but still. You deserve better than that after they tried to starve you on the show.“ 

“Aren't you spoiling me,” Rosaline remarks, and Benvolio flashes her one of his characteristic quick grins, the ones that used to irritate her so much and that don't anymore. 

“Well, you'll have to work for it a little. Start washing those.” He nods towards the vegetables while starting to unwrap the steaks, and Rosaline gets to work beside him. 

“So what have you been up to these last few days? Besides sorting through your mountain of fanmail, of course.”

“Mostly I've been trying to get a grip on reality.” He starts rubbing the steaks with a mix of spices he has also brought and which already smells delicious, and Rosaline looks over to see his expression – but the look on his face is inscrutable, and could hint at anything from inner turmoil to simple concentration for his work. 

“And how has that been working out for you?”

“Not great.” He sets the meat aside, perhaps to let it it soak in the flavour of the spices, washes his hands, and reaches past her to grab an onion from the pile of vegetables to start cutting it. “Which I guess is understandable, all things considered. It's just...” He pauses, looking down at the half-cut onion as if it held the answer to all the world's questions – until, inevitably, its sharp odor stings his eyes, and he blinks, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes before he continues chopping. “It's difficult.”

“You can say that again.”

"And I tell myself that, once everything calms down a little, things will go back to normal. There'll be a new season of the show with a new "Mister Right", and I can go back to my normal life.” 

Finished with the chopping, Benvolio takes a pan out of the cupboard and sets it on the stove, pouring in some olive oil to start sauteing the onions. His movements are quick and fluid, and Rosaline is transfixed by the sight.

“But then sometimes I wonder: What if I don't want to go back to my normal life? What if I want to change things about it?” 

This makes her tear her eyes off his hands, now busy stirring the onions, to look at Benvolio's face.

“What things?” 

“For one thing, I'm thinking of dropping out of grad school.”

Rosaline gasps – the thought alone of dropping out of school, and after coming so close to finishing, is unimaginable to her.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I know now that I'm not going to go into my uncle's business. So why keep studying something that would be more useful to him than to me?”

The onions are joined by the rest of the vegetables, chopped a lot less evenly by Rosaline herself.

“No, I've decided I'll give my illustrating business a shot. If it's what I want to do, why waste any more time not doing it?”

“Hear hear!”, Rosaline says, gripped with fierce pride, but that doesn't quite seem like it's enough. “That's very brave,” she adds, tamping down on her sudden embarrassment at the earnesty in her voice. It _is_ brave, and he deserves to be told so. 

But to her astonishment, Benvolio laughs.

“ _Brave_? You just took on I'm guessing half the country's tv-watching population, and _I'm_ the brave one?” 

“You're taking on your uncle. And you're tackling your own future. That's brave too.” 

This makes him freeze in his movements, wooden spatula poised above the sizzling pan while he only looks at her – again with that expression she can't quite decipher, and Rosaline quickly looks away before she can be tempted to try and decipher it after all.

“So, what else?” Already she feels her eyes drifting back to his, the urge to hide away overrun by the even more driving urge to observe his every expression.  


“What?” 

“You said you wanted to change things, plural. What else are you thinking of?”

For a moment, he only looks at her. Then his mouth opens as if he's about to say something, Rosaline's stomach flutters nervously.... and in the pan, the hot oil crackles and Benvolio breaks his gaze and turns back towards the stove.

“You know, that was the main thing, for now.”

She finds it hard to believe him because it feels like there should be more he might want in his life after the show... but then again, maybe that's just... projection on her part.

She turns away from him, her eyes falling on one of the bottles of expensive-looking wine Mercutio has set out for her on the kitchen counter. Maybe a drink will be just the thing, she thinks, opens it and pours them both a glass. She drags the process out, concentrating hard on distributing the wine and recorking the bottle in the hope that it will distract her from what she thought just happened – but the silence doesn't really help either.

“Have you watched it yet?” 

Benvolio's gaze flickers over towards her, momentarily surprised – but he doesn't need to ask what she means.

"Yes. You?” 

“I had to, for the article – I needed to know how much they changed and twisted what actually happened.” 

“What did you think?” 

“They took some things out of context, that's for sure. And they were clearly trying to build up a narrative that put me as the bad guy.” 

“Well, we ruined that plan,” Benvolio smirks. 

“We sure did. Although I guess in the end I turned out to be the bad guy after all."

"Or a hero, depending on who you ask." 

With the vegetables frying in one pan, Benvolio gets out another to put the steaks in, falling quiet as he concentrates. Rosaline just watches him and sips her wine, waiting for the swirl of thoughts in her head to sort itself out, or at the very least to slow down a little. There's too much to figure out yet, too much that she can't quite find the courage to ask. But the one, most important thing is this: Benvolio is here - because he wants to support her and because he's counting on her to support him as well. Because that's what they do. 

"Are you going to just stand there, Capulet? Or do you intend to actually contribute? Because someone has to set the table, you know."

She should perhaps be annoyed at being chastised like a spoiled child, but instead, Rosaline is relived to be getting something to do. Having once decided that now is not the time to figure out... things..., she was just about to notice that he looks different from the way he did on the show, where the stylists never put him in anything less than a crisp button-down for the dates. Now, he's wearing jeans and a simple black tee, and his hair looks noticeably more dishevelled than it did on shooting days, with a personal stylist and hairdresser at hand. He looks relaxed, she concludes, and decides that she likes it.

Then she abruptly turns and starts to set the table, annoyed at herself for letting herself drift in such absolutely unneccessary directions. 

By the time she's set the dining table in one corner of the open-plan living room, Benvolio is done with the food. He's arranged it all on two plates he's carrying out now, setting one down for each of them and gesturing for Rosaline to take a seat. 

"I hope they're okay, I'm a little out of practice." 

"Did you do this a lot, before the show?" 

"Cook? Yeah. I mean, I also eat on campus a lot of the time, but I enjoy trying new things out once in a while." 

"Well, it looks delicious," Rosaline observes as she sits down before one of the plates, aware of how stiff she sounds. 

"Thank you. I have to say I agree. Now tuck in!" 

Benvolio grins and does just that, and Rosaline follows his example and tries to stop being so damn nervous. Is it weird to be sitting here, in Mercutio's luxurious cabin, and having dinner with Benvolio Montague? Maybe a little - but then again, everything in her life is a little weird at the moment - and at least this part is a good kind of weird. So why not enjoy it? After all, this is what Benvolio came here for: To cheer her up. 

Time to cheer up and stop brooding. 

Another glass of wine and one excellent steak dinner later, Rosaline thinks she's doing a good job following that advice. Once she tried to banish her awkwardness, she managed to make some conversation about this and that, stuff that never really came up on the show and that has nothing to do with it either. 

And now, bolstered by wine and by how easy all of this turned out despite her earlier jitters, Rosaline actually dares to venture forth with a question that has been bouncing around in her head since the show. 

“So, what really happened between you and Stella?”

Benvolio looks up from his plate, surprised at the sudden return to the subject of the show. 

"I told you already.”

Benvolio looks uncomfortable, and Rosaline wonders why that is - is Stella framed in his mind as "the one that got away"? Or is there some other reason he doesn't want to talk about her? 

“Yes. But you didn't tell me why you came out of the Romance Suite and decided you'd have to pick me on the final evening. I know you liked her. Why couldn't she be “the One”?”

Benvolio let's the question pass with a moment of silence, apparently pondering his answer. But answer he does. 

“Because that night in the Romance Suite, I was ready to fall in love with her – was waiting for it, really. And then she started making plans for our future, and they were... they were nothing like my own plans. They sounded like my uncle's ideas. And I realised that she had no idea who I really am. And then I realised that that was the one thing that I had been hoping for: That, despite all the smoke and mirrors of the show, she'd somehow see the real me. That she'd accept me the way I am, or whichever way I choose to become. So pursuing a relationship with her would have been unfair to her – and a complete lie to myself.” 

It sounds final, completely in line with what he told her the night after the Romance Suite, when it was decided she'd be the "last woman standing", as he put it. And yet, Rosaline can't quite stop the urge to dig just a little deeper, hoping perhaps that some other truth will spill out. 

“Sounds like you were thinking of getting pretty serious with her.”

“That's just it though: I was _thinking_ about it – but those thoughts didn't match what was actually happening. You know, you're not the only one who found that the show tends to mess with your head. In my case, I think it made me start to believe that I really _was_ there to find someone to settle down with – and that I would _have_ to come out of the show having actually found them. I don't even know why, but it suddenly became so important to me when it wasn't, really.” 

So there is truth here, after all: Just like her, Benvolio has come to a place where the show has made him question even his own feelings and motives. It's not the truth she was digging for, she realises now that it's out, and suddenly it's her turn to be uncomfortable. 

She takes solace in a joke, just like Benvolio has taught her. 

“You're saying you aren't desperate to settle down?” Rosaline pretends to be shocked. “Well, nothing I heard about you before would have made me suspect that.” 

For once, it's Benvolio who rolls his eyes.

“So I had some fun before the show – so what? We're young. And it's not like you were living like a nun – what about our dear editor-in-chief?”

Rosaline freezes. She didn't even know Benvolio was aware that there was something going on between her and Escalus - and she certainly doesn't know how to feel about talking to him about it. 

“That was... a crush.” 

“ _Was_?”

“Yes, _was_. We went on a couple of dates and I thought it might be going somewhere, before, but... Well. I overestimated how much he cared about me.” 

“That sounds pretty... final. "

She may be imagining it, but she thinks there's a hint of hesitation in Benvolio's voice when he asks, as if he wasn't sure he really is allowed to ask - or if he really wants to hear the answer. 

“Yes, that chapter is definitely over. He came by, the day after I published the article. He wanted to pick up where we left off. Or rather, I guess, he wanted to finally get to where I was hoping we'd get long before – but only _after_ I'd delivered my article and given the _Gazette_ readers and attention. He didn't feel the need to tell me how he felt about me before I went on the show – he felt it would distract me from my assignment.”

"What a dick," Benvolio comments, with the same brand of comfort she'd get from Juliet too, and the thing inside her that threatened to slide into confusion during their conversation tilts back upright again. This at least she can be sure of: Benvolio's friendship will remain hers if nothing else will be, and so will his simple honesty. 

Quickly, perhaps feeling like that didn't convey quite enough sympathy, he adds: "I'm sorry it didn't work out.”

"It's okay, really," Rosaline shrugs, surprised to find she means it. “I think I overestimated my own feelings for him too. It only hurt to find out that I was so obviously less important to him than other things.” She smiles, suddenly pensive as something occurs to her. “I guess we're both learning that what we think we want isn't always what we actually need.”

“Maybe that's a lesson we both needed.”

"Maybe," Rosaline replies, barely able to focus through her effort of interpreting the tone of his voice. Was it wistful, full or regrets? Or hopeful, the voice of someone looking forward to a brighter future and inviting her to look forward alongside him? Or, to put it differently, now that he has learned that lesson, how does he intend to apply it? 

She can't quite figure it out, and she can't bring herself to ask either. Grasping for the nearest distraction, she gets up instead and starts putting away the dishes. Benvolio follows her example and they work for a moment in silence, before Benvolio thankfully comes up with a topic less fraught with unsaid and uncomfortable truths. 

"So how is Juliet's trip?" 

"Absolutely magical, in her own words - and she sends me photographic proof about ten times a day. Apparently, after watching me 'jet off to Europe and have marvelous adventures'", air quotes indicate that she is directly quoting her cousin now, "she feels it's her obligation to make me jealous of her trip too." 

Benvolio chuckles as she continues her story. 

"I keep telling her that it wasn't all fun and games, but she conveniently overhears that." 

"Well, some of it was fun. Rome was pretty great." 

"Rome was great," Rosaline agrees, though it makes the edges of her thoughts take on a melancholy tint. What does he see before his inner eye when he says it, she wonders – is it the eternal city he's revisiting, with its marvels of art and architecture? Or is his mind playing the same tricks as hers, reducing the entire opulent city to nothing more than a backdrop for other moments – the taste of red berry gelato, the scent of orange blossoms, the warm stones of the Colosseum - to add poetry to kisses that felt like little adventures all by themselves?

It's impossible to tell, of course, and pointless to think about, Rosaline decides. Instead, she follows Benvolio when he heads for the couch and switches on the tv.

“You okay with watching some tv? I have a lot of shows to catch up with.”

“Me too, although I've been doing a lot of catching up the past few days.”

Obviously, this leads into a conversation on which shows which one of them is currently following, where there's overlap, and which episodes they'll tackle first. Once they've cleared all of that up, they settle in for a long, satisfying marathon, with snacks and blankets and the bottle of wine close at hand, and Rosaline thinks for the first time that really, this whole situation may not be all that bad after all.

And then, halfway through a new season of a show they've both been meaning to binge, Rosaline picks up the remote control to turn down the volume and accidentally switches back to regular tv – only to see her own face looking back at her, frozen mid-movement at a rather unflattering angle on a screen behind the two anchors of a notorious gossip show.

“ _What I want to know,”_ one of the two muses out loud, “i _s what our Mister Right is thinking about this whole thing? We haven't heard a peep from him, but he must know people are waiting for his reaction, right?”_

“ _Oh, absolutely. What she did was despicable – I imagine he's more than a little mad.”_

Beside her, Benvolio snorts disparagingly, but Rosaline suddenly doesn't feel like laughing at all.

“ _And I'm sure if he spoke out, he'd receive a lot of support. It may not be enough to heal a broken heart, but it might show him that people are on his side.”  
_

“ _And they really are – I've spoken to a lot of people about this recently, and no one, absolutely no one, could sympathize with her. Not even a little bit. Frankly, they all think she's a... well, they've used language that isn't really fit for television, but you get the gist.”_

He chuckles and his colleague chimes in, flashing pearly white teeth in amusement, as if tearing someone down on television was no more than a bit of harmless gossip.

Without noticing, Rosaline grips the remote tighter and tighter, trying to keep herself from flinging it at the tv in anger instead.

But before she can do any such thing, Benvolio's hand closes around hers, gently prying apart her iron grip.

"Just change the channel, Rosaline. You don't have to listen to this."

"It's just so weird – they're talking about me as if they knew exactly what happened. As if they knew _me_."

"But they don't. They have no idea who you are."

“But they act like they also can't possibly understand why I did what I did, even though I wrote it all down. I mean, did they even read the article? Or are they just parroting what e _veryone else_ is apparently saying?”

“They're saying what they know will get them views and social media interactions, nothing more. And they're wrong, too – you know there are plenty of people agreeing with you, right? I've read articles calling you a badass and a heroine and a new feminist icon...”

“I know,” Rosaline says, and has to smile. “You sent me links to every one you found, remember?”

She takes a shuddering breath, lifts the remote, and switches the channel.

When she finds Benvolio still watching her, serious and a little worried, she tacks on a quick reassurance:

"Really, I'm okay."

There, that sounded convincing, right? But Benvolio is still watching her, she can tell out of the corner of her eye as she flicks through the channels.

“You know you don't have to be though, right? I know you want to be tough and strong and not let anything get to you, but you don't have to be strong all the time. If I was in your shoes, I'd have fled town long before. Probably to some place without an internet connection.” He flashes her a brief smile, before turning serious again. “So that's what I want you to know: What you're going through right now... you're allowed to let it rattle you a little. You're allowed to _not_ be _okay_ for a while.” 

His words hit her harder than they should: Because, unknowingly or not, Benvolio just pretty much quoted the very same thing she's been telling herself for the last few years: _Be tougher. Be stronger. Whatever happens, don't let it get to you._ But in this case, Benvolio is saying the opposite: That it's okay for her to just stop doing that, for a little while at least – and somehow, just being offered the choice of not having to be strong makes it easier to do so.

“I know. But I want to be okay, and I'm _going_ to be. I'm not letting those assholes drag me down.”

“That's the Capulet I know,” he says with a return of his earlier smile. “You're going to come out of this just fine, for no other reason than to spite them.” 

And in that moment, with a quiet understanding that feels a lot like a relief, Rosaline accepts what her mind has been struggling with those past few days: That somehow, over the course of the show, she fell in love with Benvolio Montague. 

For a moment, Rosaline waits to feel surprised by this epiphany – then she realizes there's nothing to be surprised by. She's felt this way before, after all, the night of the finale shoot for example, when Benvolio draped his jacket around her shoulders and she was irrationally touched by the gesture, on top of already being more than a little shaken by his beautiful words. She told herself then that it was just the romantic setting making her overestimate how strongly she felt about him, but she still remembers that visceral feeling of wanting time to stop, of wanting to stay in that little bubble of fairytale romance with him, as if she could force it to become true that way. 

Now, there's no romantic setting, no sunrise and roses and no elegant gown and suit to turn her into a fairytale princess and the man beside her into a modern-day Prince Charming. Instead of romantic music, the background sound is provided by a third-tier buddy cop comedy on tv, there's a wine-stain on her ratty old sweatshirt and Benvolio has a piece of popcorn stuck in his hair – but her feelings are the same: She's gripped with the same bracing knowledge that this is right, and that what she wants most of all is for it not to end.

Returning his smile, Rosaline lifts her glass to clink it to his.

“Cheers to that.” 

She lets her smile linger and waits for his own to brighten in return. And for the first time, she really allows herself to enjoy the sight when it does, to take in what it does to _her_ – the flutter in her stomach, the warmth spreading in its wake.

She's been wondering, over and over, how to tell apart what was real and what wasn't; which parts of Benvolio she fell for – the real ones, or the things he said and did for television. But now that he's here, with the same warm smile and the same soft eyes and the same kind words he had for her whenever she needed them the most, she's beginning to think that maybe there isn't actually a difference – that he was always just _himself_ , whether the cameras were rolling or not. 

And now that the show is over and the cameras are shut off, she has time to figure out what to do about it, time to find out if her feelings might be returned when they don't have to be acted for the sake of their cover. There's no one around to pretend for, no one to trick and no one trying to manipulate them. And most importantly, there's no finale looming over them, cutting short their time and forcing them to end up in a prewritten situation, following someone else's rules for what love is supposed to look like. They can define that all by themselves, if Benvolio wants to – and she'll give him all the time he needs to figure out if he does. 

“I'm glad you came along on the show.” 

It's lame, and not nearly enough, but for now, it's all she's brave enough to say.

But some of the things she _really_ wants to say must be shining through in her voice after all, because Benvolio looks like she said a lot more.

“Well,” he replies, voice thick, “I'm glad I could help.” 

And for all her lingering insecurities, she feels hope bloom inside her at the way he looks at her: It may be the wine or the late hour, but she imagines there's a heaviness to his gaze that feels like it means something more.

 


	19. Chapter 19

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but when Rosaline wakes up, it's dark, the tv's off, and she's slumped on the sofa, her head bent at an awkward angle to rest on Benvolio's shoulder, her neck stiff and aching when she tries to move it.

Blinking at the sliver of grey morning light falling in through the blinds, Rosaline tries to reconstruct how they ended up in this position. She remembers a second bottle of wine and several episodes of their favorite sitcom, remembers slumping against Benvolio in a fit of laughter and the little thrill when he leaned into her as well and they stayed like that, the space between them growing smaller and smaller. Apparently, he either didn't mind or didn't notice when she fell asleep in the same position.

And that position can't be too comfortable: Benvolio's head is tipped back across the headrest and his mouth hanging open, which not only looks ridiculous but encourages snoring as well, she finds. A glance at the clock tells her it's five in the morning, which definitely means going back to sleep, preferably in one of the house's luxurious beds.

Except... well, except the thought of waking Benvolio up only to send him away doesn't seem at all appealing – especially when, a reckless little voice whispers in her head, she could just sit back down again and let herself enjoy this a little longer. It's selfish, she's well aware – the nice thing would be to let Benvolio spend the rest of the night in a comfy bed instead of awkwardly slumped on the couch. But, she notices now: It seems Benvolio was already faced with that decision, and made his choice – the tv is switched off and there's a blanket draped over the two of them, which means that Benvolio either fell asleep after her or woke up at some point too, and rather than sending her off to bed, he decided to make things more comfortable and stay right here. And maybe he just didn't want to wake her – but maybe, just like her, he didn't want this to end.

Smiling, she leans against him again, the same way she was before. But after sleeping like this for several hours, the position isn't as comfortable as it was before, and she shifts so she's leaning sideways against him, her legs tucked under her and her head and arm pillowed on his shoulder. Benvolio shifts a little at the movement and she freezes, suddenly afraid that he'll wake up and find her trying to cuddle up to him. But instead of waking up, he turns a little towards her and lets his head sink so it rests against hers, and Rosaline feels bold enough to draw her other arm up across his chest so she's practically draped across him.

She still hasn't entirely decided if this is okay when Benvolio shifts again.

“Capulet?”, he mumbles. “You're trapping my arm.”

Mortified, Rosaline scrambles to sit upright again – only to be stopped when the arm in question, now freed, comes up around her shoulder to pull her back against him.

“That's better,” he says, and Rosaline has to say she agrees. “Now get back to sleep.”

And as much as she usually dislikes being ordered around, this is an order she has absolutely no intention to refuse.

***

 

 

The next time Rosaline wakes up, it's light outside, and she's alone on the sofa – comfortably curled up on her side and covered chin-to-toe with the blanket they shared last night. She doesn't remember Benvolio leaving, and for a moment, she thinks that maybe he didn't – maybe he's just making breakfast, or taking a shower. But the house is deserted, with no explanation for where he went or if he'll be back, and even though she knows he doesn't owe her such an explanation, Rosaline feels dismayed that he just snuck off. It's irrational, she knows – they didn't exactly spend the night together in any romantic sense. But he promised to stick this out with her, and the fact that he gave up on that promise so quickly irks her.

It's only when she returns to the sofa to fold the blanket that Rosaline finally does find... not an explanation, exactly, but some sign that he didn't just skip out on her without a word: There's a post-it stuck to the tv, covered in Benvolio's wide, artistic handwriting.

“ _Capulet, there's something I had to do. Once you've finished your beauty sleep, turn on the tv to WZV.”_

The note isn't signed – but then, there's no one else who calls her Capulet. Or tries to boss her around while being playfully rude like this.

It is a strange command though – WZV is a local news station, one that has done a lot of reports on _Mister Right's_ current season due to the fact that its two stars are both natives of Verona. And ever since Rosaline dropped her bombshell article, they've been particularly vocal about what a despicable traitor she apparently is. She has no idea why Benvolio would want her to watch that channel in particular, where the show's most insufferable host is probably still foaming at the mouth whenever her name comes up.

But he has to have some reason, so she switches on the tv – only to sink back onto the sofa in surprise when Benvolio walks onto the stage of that very same host's morning show, smiling brightly and waving at the cheering audience.

The host greets him like an old friend – which is both smarmy and presumptuous, seeing as they've never personally met as far as Rosaline knows – and then makes some chitchat before asking him how he's doing, with a voice that suggests he expects Benvolio to be crushed with heartbreak.

Of course Benvolio is no such thing, but it would make sense for his cover to _pretend_ to be – after all, he's supposed to have been in the dark about her treacherous hidden agenda. But instead of playing the innocent victim, Benvolio announces cheerfully that he's doing perfectly fine, and Rosaline's astonishment grows. What the hell is he playing at?

The host seems equally perturbed by Benvolio's unexpected cheerfulness but pushes on.

“Of course, the question we're all asking ourselves is: Have you spoken to Rosaline since she published that article?”

“I have; in fact, I came here straight from her place.”

A collective gasp of surprise goes through the audience, and Rosaline grins despite her confusion – trust Benvolio to milk this interview for every bit of scandal he can cause.

“So does that mean you have forgiven her for her actions?”

“No.”

There's a collective “oooohh” coming from the audience, followed by enthusastic applause and one “You're too good for her anyway!” that makes Rosaline clench her jaw, before Benvolio continues.

“Because there's nothing _to_ forgive. Rosaline didn't lie to me, or betray me – because I knew what she was doing the entire time. I'm a contributor to the _Verona Gazette_ , and I helped her uncover what she did. She just didn't disclose that in her article to protect me.”

Rosaline gasps out loud, and many in the studio audience are showing similar signs of surprise – for different reasons, of course: She already knew Benvolio was in on it – what she doesn't know is why he decided to come out with the truth _now_ , when they've already decided to keep his name out of it.

She doesn't for a second entertain the notion that he did it for popularity, or rather notoriety – he's seen what being at the center of a shitstorm looks like, and besides, she knows that's not who he is.

But as if he had been reading her thoughts, Benvolio continues, and it suddenly becomes clear why he went on the show: To _defend_ her.

“But this has gone too far. Rosaline is getting death threats. _Death threats!_ And for what? For doing her duty as a journalist and exposing lies and abuse!”

He's visibly angry now, in a way she's only seen him a few times, and not even trying to conceal it. The sight, and the protectiveness it reveals, makes her somehow simultaneously smile and tear up, and Rosaline shakes her head irritatedly – only Benvolio would send her into emotional turmoil before she's even had breakfast.

“But she lied to people in the process,” the host stammers, perhaps hoping to incite the studio audience into a rage.

“Yes. Because it was necessary. And so did I. And yet I bet I won't get half as much hate for admitting this than she got. So I want to make one thing very clear: People have a right to be angry about what we did, about the way we deceived them. But they don't have a right to take that anger out on Rosaline. Anyone who keeps harassing her, on- or offline, will be reported to the police. And you,” he turns back towards the host, whose genial smile is completely frozen on his face by now, “you are not going to use me to get people even more riled up just for clicks and views.”

The host doesn't know what to reply, which seems to suit Benvolio just fine. He turns towards the studio audience to address them directly, voice softening as he pleads for their understanding.

“I know that I went on the show under false pretenses, and I apologize for that to everyone who has been supporting me and rooting for me to find happiness. But the thing is: I may have lied about why I went on the show. But I didn't lie about my experiences while I was there. Everything that happened to me was real. My feelings for Rosaline were, and _are_ , real, even if it took me some time to realise it.”

Unlike his first surprising declaration, this one takes a moment to fully make its impact, on Rosaline and on the audience – perhaps because he says it so calmly, like it's the simplest thing in the world rather than a twist on top of a twist. Even the show host seems unsure if he heard right.

“You mean you... really are in love with her?”

“I am. And more than that, I'm her friend, and I'm not going to sit by quietly when people are stalking and threatening and abusing her.”

The host just keeps staring at him, slack-jawed and without any of his usual suave charm, and Benvolio stares right back, face set to make it clear he means every word.

“Any other questions?”

The host stands in stunned silence for a moment, until something – probably an order coming in over his earpiece – shakes him out of his stupor.

“Well, I'm sure our audience has some.”

The audience has more than a few questions, it turns out – there's a wall of hands shooting up when the camera pans over, and the production assistant charged with carrying a microphone to any audience member the host points at can barely keep up.

Most of the questions are about Benvolio's first revelation, the admission that he was in on Rosaline's deceit the whole time. Why did he go along with Rosaline's undercover mission? Were the producers really as bad as she described them? Why did he not come out with the truth sooner, or co-sign the article with her?

None of them focus on the second revelation, the admission that Benvolio's feelings were real, when _that_ is what Rosaline herself wants to focus on more than anything else. She hasn't even begun to fully comprehend Benvolio's declaration, and now she doesn't get a chance to ask her own questions about it.

And then it hits her: Maybe she has a way of changing that, of steering the conversation where she wants it to go.

She quickly gets out her phone and calls the number the show's executive producer gave her, for post-shooting media emergencies.

Five minutes later, the talk show Benvolio is currently a guest on is changing its format yet again: Now, in addition to questions from the audience, they'll answer questions from viewers calling in to the studio – well, from _one_ viewer.

Briefly, Rosaline ponders how weird it is to be safe on the other side of the screen and still feel just as exposed as if there was a camera on her.

Then she takes a deep breath, gathers her courage, and asks:

“You said it took you some time to understand that your feelings were real?”

On the screen, Benvolio nods cautiously, a confused expression on his face as slowly, recognition begins to set in.

“So when _exactly_ would you say you realized it?”

It takes him a moment to reply – but when he does, his face is determined, his voice firm, and she knows he has figured out who he's talking to, even if he doesn't let on.

“I think it was a long time coming – but I knew exactly how I felt when I last saw her. She opened the door and I knew that, the way I felt in that moment? I don't ever want to stop feeling like that.”

For a moment, Rosaline can't breathe. She knows exactly what he's talking about – because she felt the exact same way last night, sitting next to him on the couch, listening to his pep talk and realising that the only thing he wants her to be is herself. And that certainty, the warmth and affection she felt washing over her at his words, is what she wants to hold on to as long as possible.

And suddenly, Rosaline, can't wait to tell him – but not like this. Not with an audience, and cameras to capture her every word and bare it to the world.

“Okay,” she says instead, perhaps somewhat inadequately. “Thank you.”

They'll have time to talk about this later, she's sure, and as much as she'd love to get everything cleared up right now, she hopes Benvolio will see that too. Already, her mind is racing ahead to seeing him again, alone and in person, and telling him that she feels the same way, a secret bit of knowledge so precious she wants to keep it for him alone.

But if she expected Benvolio to be content with her reply, _almost_ an admission that she feels the same in her opinion, and guess her plan from it, she was wrong.

“ _Thank you_?”, Benvolio blows up. “What kind of a reply is _that_? I tell you I'm in love with you, for real, and you say “ _Thank you_ ”?”

Clearly, the pressure is getting to him, and it probably doesn't help that the studio audience is starting to catch on to who exactly is at the other end of that phone line. But Benvolio ignores their increasingly loud murmurs to launch into an ill-timed rant.

“Honestly, Capulet, you could at least...”

“Benvolio?”, she cuts him off, and miraculously, he falls silent. She'll have to be blunt, it seems. “Just come back. I'll make breakfast.”

For a moment, Benvolio looks stunned – then a broad grin breaks out on his face as he turns to the host.

“That's my cue to leave. Thank you for having me on your show.”

And then, as the audience's initial reluctant applause turns into a deafening roar, he does indeed walk off the studio stage, taking off his clip-on mic as he goes, as if getting ready to sprint out of the building the moment he's away from the cameras.

***

 

Benvolio arrives back at Mercutio's cabin no more than half an hour later, which suggests that he rushed here as fast as he could. Rosaline barely had enough time to shower and get dressed, and “making breakfast” hasn't really progressed further than switching on the coffeemaker. Granted, the reason for that was because she might have wasted some time staring emptily ahead while mentally replaying Benvolio's words...

Then again, the look on Benvolio's face when she opens the door suggests he didn't rush here for the promised breakfast.

The sight makes her heart skip a little, proof that he only left her to defend her, and rushed right back as if he couldn't bear to be away any longer. It makes her realise that she missed him, even if it hasn't been more than a few hours since he left, and Rosaline wonders if she'll have to resign herself to the fact that apparently, this is what falling for the nation's most eligible bachelor has done to her.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack when you called in to the studio," he opens, accusingly.

Whatever Rosaline expected his first words to be, those weren't it.

“Well, you were the one who had to go on live television. You just always need to make a big show of things, don't you?”

She feels momentarily defensive, but by the time she's done speaking, there's only fond exasperation in her voice. Not that Benvolio notices: He doesn't seem to have caught on to the fact that she's only teasing, and looks nervous instead.

“In my defense, I didn't go on the show to talk about my feelings. I just wanted to tell people that I'm not the victim in your supposed betrayal, and that they need to cut it out with the online hate.” He grins, a little sheepish. “The rest just sort of... slipped out.”

Rosaline forces herself to stay calm even though her stomach just did a little flip remembering his words on that stupid show, his calm reply when the host asked him to confirm that he is, indeed, in love with her.

“It was very chivalrous of you to defend me."

It takes a moment for the words to get through, but she can see that they did when a wide grin spreads across his face, tense shoulders sinking with relief, and she understands just how nervous he was. She wonders, briefly, if he realizes how incredibly brave he is, and that soft gooey spot that started to grow inside her since he wedged himself into her life grows a little more.

“I finally managed to impress you then?”, he asks, recalling their conversation at the spa, and she can't help but laugh.

“Yes, you have.”

He looks so pleased by this that Rosaline feels the impulsive need to say more, especially more of the kind of things that make him smile like that... But not here, where anyone passing by the gate could still see them. It feels like an overly paranoid thought, but Rosaline doesn't want to rule out the possibility that someone followed him here.

She pulls him inside and through to the kitchen – she did promise him breakfast, after all, and handing him a mug of coffee seems much easier than handing him her heart on a platter, even if he already did the same with his own heart on live television.

It's that thought that spurs her on despite her sudden nervousness: She won't let it be said that she was a coward where he was brave.

“I realized it last night too,” she says as she watches him take a sip of his coffee, somewhat out of context. “When we were sitting on the couch and you said it was okay for me not to be strong – that's when I knew.”

She waits for him to be smug about it, or at the very least to be happy to hear she returns the feelings he just admitted to an entire tv studio full of people plus a live audience – but instead, Benvolio looks offended.

“So you knew last night, and you chose not to say anything? You just _sat_ there, not saying anything?”

“No. I sat there and allowed myself to just _be_ with you.” She looks at him earnestly, hoping to convey just much she wants her words to mean. “And I enjoyed myself.”

His expression softens again, turning almost bashful.

“Besides, I didn't know if you felt the same.”

Benvolio nods as the truth of it sinks in.

“But you do now,” he says, quiet, and now it's his gaze pinning her in place.

“Yes, I do now.”

There's silence for a moment, crackling with something that makes her draw closer, thinking that perhaps she'll get away with only saying this much if she backs it up with a kiss.

But before she can follow through on that idea, something else occurs to her.

“Hey, you said you knew last night too – why didn't _you_ say something then?”

“Because you'd just gone through comment section hell and ended things with Escalus. I didn't want to spring this on you on top of it.”

To her slight irritation, that explanation is both sensible and very considerate – even though his follow-through on the lovely sentiment was a little lacking.

“So you decided to spring it on me on _live television_?!”

He grins sheepishly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I guess I didn't last very long on that resolution... I just.... I don't know. I was standing in that studio, thinking how all these people were thinking about you as this cruel, selfish person when that couldn't be any further from the truth. And suddenly I just... needed them to know. I needed them to know that you did nothing wrong and that I'm in love with you and I won't let them keep harrassing you. So...”, he shrugs, and as quickly as it flared up, the heat in his voice already simmers down again. “I told them.”

But while Benvolio is acting like he didn't say anything out of the ordinary just then, Rosaline doesn't find it as easy to get past – not with the passion in his voice, the phrasing that suggests telling her and the world about his feelings, and defending her in the process, was something he had no choice but to do.

Which means she has no choice but to pull him close to kiss him, because she's so overwhelmed by how much she's feeling that she can't even talk – but she can still do this.

She only draws back when she finally feels ready to speak again.

“I mean, you could have just told me here, no live cameras needed...”

“I'll tell you again if you want, no cameras allowed,” he offers, setting aside his mug of coffee with a calm deliberateness that makes a pleasant shiver run down her spine: For what he's planning next, he wants to have his hands free. Holding her gaze, he leans in once more, arms snaking around her waist to pull her close. “I'm in love with you, Rosaline Capulet. I have no idea when or how it happened exactly, but it did, and here we are.”

“Here we are,” she breathes, because really, it's the only accurate summary of this whole crazy situation... and it's all she gets around to saying before he kisses her this time around, almost as if it was a competition, and the fact that she started means he's honor-bound to continue. Which Rosaline doesn't mind in the slightest, because he just told her he's in love with her, for the second time today, and what else is there to do, in a moment like this?

And it is a Moment, capital M, of that she's aware – the kind of moment that, on the show, would be edited into a big romantic montage afterwards, set to swelling music and fed to viewers in the form of an endlessly rewatchable viral video.

But there's no one around to capture this moment, to edit it with slow motion and soulful music into a social media-ready clip designed to tug at viewers' heartstrings, and Rosaline is glad about it. There's no need for tricks to make this moment any more meaningful than it already is, and no need for a replay button for her to be sure she'll remember it forever.

When he pulls back, she finds to her surprise that she's smiling, probably looking goofy as hell, because that's what she feels like, and there's no camera to hide her feelings from.

“You're something else, Montague,” she says, echoing his words from a few days ago, and he laughs softly. “But you do have very poor impulse control.”

“I'll work on it.”

“And you can never resist making a big show of things.”

“True.”

“I have to say though... making a big declaration on television? That was... well, it was a little over the top, maybe. But it was also just a little bit romantic.”

He looks pleased for a moment, as she expected, but then something else sneaks onto his face – hesitation?

“Which declaration?”

Well, that question is downright odd.

“The one you just made? What other declaration was there?”

“The one on the show. The finale.”

“Well, I meant the real one.”

He pauses, long enough to confuse her even more, before he replies.

“They were both real, in a way.”

“One of them was for the show.”

“I know. But it wasn't... What I said wasn't for the show. I mean, obviously, I wouldn't have said it if it weren't for the show, but what I said... well, I sort of drew inspiration from my real feelings there.”

Rosaline can only stare at him, completely stunned at what she's hearing. She still remembers the night of the finale, still remembers his words – and now it turns out those words were the truth all along?

“I guess it was a case of art imitating life, rather than the other way around. If you can consider that show _art_.”

But Rosaline isn't in the mood to discuss the artistic merits of _Mister Right_ – not when she's still catching up with this latest revelation.

“You meant it.”

Benvolio nods.

“I can repeat it too, if you want to – we did enough takes for the words to really get etched into my brain.”

Rosaline shakes her head – she doesn't need him to repeat it because she still remembers every word herself; every single, beautiful word. But at the time, she told herself they were just that: Beautiful words, nothing else. Now, knowing they were true...

“I'm in love with you too,” she blurts out, because she has yet to actually say the words and she suddenly feels like she'll have to get them out as quickly as possible just so he knows. “I haven't really said it before but... I am.”

Benvolio smiles.

“I figured it was sort of implied – but I'm still happy to hear it.”

Not as happy as she was to say it, Rosaline thinks, but his face suggests that maybe they're both equally happy about the morning's confessions.

Rosaline still has thousands of people calling for her head online, not all of whom will be pacified by Benvolio's efforts, and no idea what the next months will bring, now that she's famous – but she doesn't give a damn about any of it, not right now.

She kisses him again, because she can and because, she realizes now, a part of her was scared that she'd lose him, that he would fade out of her life again once the show's crazy aftermath died down.

Now, the knowledge that he won't allows her to register other things, like the fact that being with him isn't just sweetness and light and chaste smiles, and never was – it's also rush and heat and _want;_ enough to make her forget about everything else. And for a moment she does, loses herself in the feeling of his lips against her throat and his hair under her fingertips when she slides them up his neck and his fingers digging into her hips as he presses her back against the kitchen counter.

But before she entirely forgets herself, she just wants to make sure they really are on the same page - Rosaline has always preferred to see things neatly resolved.

"So, we're doing this?", she breaks away to ask, breathless and flushed.

"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't," Benvolio shrugs, although then it seems that one occurs to him after all. "Of course, the internet's going to have a field day with this."

"I don't give a shit what the internet thinks," Rosaline murmurs against his lips, already leaning in to pick up where they left off, and for once, it's true.

Why should she care what anyone thinks? She has him, and he thinks the world of her.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, somewhat surprisingly, we've come to the end. Writing this has been a pleasure, especially with all the lovely encouraging comments I got. So, thank you all for coming along on this ride.  
> And if, like me, you're still not done with this beautiful ship, you can hopefully at some point in the future read the in-canon fic I'm currently writing for them. (Because the five (I think) other in-canon fics I've already written for them were clearly not enough yet.)


End file.
